C'est La Vie
by PseudoSim
Summary: Taylor Hebert, Skitter, Weaver, Khepri… So many names I'd gone by, so many faces. Yet somehow it was typical that, after giving that woman an answer, I'd wake up on an island filled with monsters of the past and an ethereal presence looming over me. But c'est la vie... and hey, living here was a walk in the park compared to everything else I've been through! Practically a vacation!
1. Chapter 1

Cest La Vie (Worm/MTG/Jurassic World)

Thoughts? ( Im really shooting in the dark here with post GM taylor and easing into the plainswalker bits(what she was feeling was Green). Like, should I have tried to add in her explicitly ignighting? Am I rushing in with noticing the Mana? I dont know.)

* * *

There was nowhere else to look but up. My eyes were wet though, the points of light blurry.

But there were so many. So many stars. Just a fraction of the universe. So vast. So… infinite.

We were all so very small, in the end.

The first bullet hit me from behind and I slowly toppled.

The second hit me before I could fall, before there could be any pain.

-I-

Something light brushed across me. Warm and airy, like a spring breeze. But... violent and unrelenting. Then it moved, flowed, over and around me. It was everywhere, it...

-I-

It was humid. That was it, that was the first thing I noticed before being hit by the distorted senses from millions upon millions of arthropods.

The sudden influx of information was almost crippling and for a moment I was back in the hospital, thinking I'd lost my mind as I tried to understand what I was seeing and hearing and feeling. But then it was gone in another moment, the excess of information shunted away as it was processed into something I could partially understand.

I saw. Not the hospital, a forest.

No. A jungle.

But…

One eye snapped open while the other stuck, gummed up; the lashes pulled but the eye remained shut. I stared up through my glasses at the blue, cloudless sky as the tops of trees swayed in an overhead breeze.

Two gunshots echoed in my head. Contessa. But this wasn't that forest, on that world. It was daytime, and then it had been the night.

What had happened?

Reaching to the sky with a yellow-gloved hand, appreciating the smoothness of the act for a moment, I landed a red and grey butterfly on my finger. "You're still there though, aren't you Passenger?"

Letting the butterfly go free I let my control slacken and the sounds of my new swarm re-joined the chorus of the jungle.

She did shoot me, though. Even in my half insensate state, I'd felt that— I remembered that.

Some details were blurry, but I remembered enough.

Decisions. A thousand decisions. Good and Bad alike. So many of them I regretted in hindsight, I would have done things differently if I could. But the last ones, leading up to killing Scion, those more than any other… not those, not when they had let us win and not when they led to saving everyone.

But I was a monster. I was under no illusions otherwise and I'd given Contessa my answer, so why...

My suit peeled away from my skin in places as I sat up and the straps of my flight pack unit sagged on my shoulders. I felt at the back of my head, but… nothing. I glanced down at my space where my arm should have been only to see a rounded stump terminating just above where my elbow should be.

Oh. Yeah.

It was Gone. Crushed by Sveta, burned off by Lung, and healed by Panacea so it wouldn't pop.

I reached back with my left hand and felt through my hair to my scalp where I knew she'd shot me. My hair was matted, thick in places with dried and tacky blood, but… I probed at my scalp and found two spots the size of dimes. Still sensitive.

"'I win'." I snorted and shook my head. The hydrostatic shock alone would have… should have…

I shouldn't be alive. But I was.

How though, or who? Panacea? Riley?

She hadn't left me there to die. Why? I'd done more than enough to deserve it… more than enough.

I swallowed thickly and closed my eye.

Why couldn't she have just let me die?

Why leave me in the middle of some jungle instead of in a cell or somewhere I could interact with-

Something brushed against my arm; warm, light and airy, but violent and unyielding.

I dove and rolled, filling the air around me with fliers to attack… nothing? But I knew what I'd felt and that hadn't been nothing.

Eye narrowing, I gathered and flooded the air with fliers for hundreds of feet around me; from the lowest shrub to the highest branch. Still, nothing. That did little to settle my nerves though, and only after spending a few minutes scouring the jungle did I relax and disperse the swarm.

It hadn't been nothing, but… maybe whatever it had been was less than I'd perceived it out to be?

Maybe I was making a mountain out of an anthill.

Or maybe, I was just jumping at what I thought was there. Tilting my head back I looked up to the sky again. And… maybe that was why I was here, instead of being in a jail cell. I could think clearly than I had for… however long it had been since I asked Panacea to change my power, but maybe I still wasn't all there. Maybe I wasn't safe to be around.

Or maybe, this was some way of hers that would force me to decompress after everything I'd done. A way to let me get my head on straight?

Well, that was a bit out there, but it had worked for Panacea… Kinda? Maybe? She'd been a… well, a wreck was a nice way of putting it before being sent to the Birdcage. But after her time there she seemed to have settled down a bit. Or at least figured things out.

Although, she'd had people around her. Super villains and psychopaths, yes, but still people... and her father

Dad. Was he Ok? Did he survive Scions rampage? Did he— I stopped and quashed that train of thought before it spiraled out of control.

He would be fine.

It might be a lie, I didn't know, but I would believe it until I knew otherwise. And then… I could deal with it then.

Besides, while there was nothing I could do for Dad, Lisa would somehow figure things out and set something up for him. And if anything, Dinah would at least be able to tell him I was alive.

So… at least he would know.

I just needed to focus on surviving and my... vacation. Yes, vacation. It was such a nicer term than 'prison sentence'. Because that's actually what this was, wasn't it.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. That was all I had and all I knew, though; maybe.

Well, not entirely. The corner of my lips turned up in a wan smile.

A spindly-legged shape descended from the canopy on a shimmering golden thread and I held my hand out again. A Golden Orb Weaver, and more specifically a Nephila Clavipes— the Banana spider. Which meant, if conditions were similar to Bet, then I was likely somewhere near the equator or in Central America— or more likely another earth's Central America.

That… well, it wasn't the worst place she could have left me but certainly not the best. I was likely in the middle of nowhere and hundreds of miles from anything — presuming anything existed on this world — but at least it was a middle of nowhere that had some of the highest and most diverse insect densities in the world.

I could work with that, I probably wouldn't have much free time, though… that might have been the point. I grimaced and put the arachnid on my shoulder where I directed it to start working on my hair.

Well, if that was the plan she didn't leave me with much, but at least there was that.

Then I lowered my gaze to the jungle floor and stared at the brushed steel thermos I'd noticed while searching. Contessa's thermos.

As well as that and whatever I had stowed away in my costume of course. With how chaotic things had been after the Rig fell I'd just cobbled together whatever costume bits were available; there ought to be a few useful bits in the various compartments.

Still not much to work with though.

I sighed and rubbed at my gummed up eye. But what else was new. Taking my hand away, I blinked a few times and glanced down at my hand to see red streaks and flakes on the yellow dyed silk.

I touched my face and felt the dried blood covering my skin while the orb weaver struggled to pull at some my hair that had been clotted together. Yeah, this wasn't going to work.

Picking up the thermos (empty) I tromped into the jungle, making for a small stream with some freshwater crabs in it.

While I made my way through the trees and surprisingly sparse low-lying vegetation, I picked up a number of orb weavers to work on my hair. A few were males, but mostly only females so far. As they were the larger of the species they would be more useful of the two at the moment and I could just gather more when I needed them.

Not that I couldn't use more, but rather… I had no need to. The jungle was absolutely teeming with insect life. Why build a swarm and bring it along when I could just create one from local resources?

It was… refreshing. They came into my range, and they left my range. I could just let them act as they would and didn't need to bring them along to keep my swarm populated.

Before long the tree line began to thin a bit as I came up to a narrow, shaded corridor where a mostly dry riverbed had cut through the jungle. At the center was a narrow stream of water four or five feet wide.

It was shallow and slow moving, but clear and clean looking with small rocks covering the bottom… More of a brook than a stream, actually, or at least it was until the next rainy season came.

Searching out a good spot to kneel down, I set the thermos aside and dipped my hand into the water; cool, but not cold. Splashing my face a few times I rubbed at my skin before splashing a few more times and the brook turned pink. Then it washed away and I repeated the process, eventually peeling my glove off when it soaked through to use my bare hand.

Only when the water ran clear no matter how much water I splashed and no matter how hard I rubbed my skin did I feel my face was clean. All that remained was my hair— my hair, which the orb weavers had been able to make little progress with.

Glancing along the brook I found a suitable rock to sit on close to the water and settled down.

Sending the spiders to rest under some of my back armor panels, I wet my hand and ran my fingers back through my hair.

I wasn't sure how long I combed and pulled at the knots and tangles in my hair, but it wasn't enough; the strands stuck and clung together as if they'd been glued and… I pulled my fingers out of my hair and sighed. This wasn't working.

Taking off my glasses I set them aside and folded forward to dunk my head into the stream.

The splashes had been nothing, actually submerging my head in the water I found it was much colder, but not too bad. And when I came back up, the water that ran down my neck was a pleasant contrast to the humidity and sweat beading beneath my costume.

Wringing out my hair as best I could, I began dragging my fingers through the wet tresses. The dunk had loosened up much of the trouble the dried blood had given me, but not entirely. I hissed as I pulled a little too hard at a knot and leaned forward to dunk my head again, this time combing through while my hair flowed with the brook and the water ran red.

When I came back up and combed my fingers through the umpteenth stinging knot I stopped. Why was I even bothering?

I didn't need to do this. I needed to find food and shelter so I could survive… but was it too much to just have a bit of normalcy? If only for a bit? We'd won, Scion was dead, was it too much to ask for a bit of… I tried to think back. When had I just had a moment where it wasn't necessary to plan, or prepare for something, or think about fighting, or worry about the apocalypse?

I stopped running my fingers through my hair. I couldn't remember. Back in Brockton, surely, but… before Leviathan? Before the locker? Before Emma turned against me? Before Mom died? When, though?

...Summer camp?

Slipping my glasses back on I looked around the dry stream bed and listened to the brook flow and burble over the rocks while the trees creaked in the wind and the birds sang.

This was almost like that, in a way.

A fat possum scurried through the bush a few hundred feet away and the moment was gone.

Except for my powers. Except for what I was getting my swarm— from my passenger.

I pushed back at the sensory input until the senses of my swarm dulled. Then I kept pushing and pushing and my range shrank. I brought it closer, and closer, and closer, and closer… until it was only me. The swarm was still there, of course, it would never really disappear, but it was muted and distant enough that I could pretend it wasn't there for a moment.

Closing my eyes I slowly breathed in, smelling the clean, uncontaminated air; the wet rocks peeking up from the brook; the water flowing; the loamy scent of damp earth and… A bit of ozone? I opened my eyes to stare up at the slivers of sky between the branches and leaves overhead.

Still clear, but maybe there were thunderheads I couldn't see?

A bush shifted at the edge of my range, but I automatically quashed the sensory information from my swarm even further.

Rain. That would be nice. With how humid it was, it was probably sometime around summer here and a good summer storm would be a nice contrast to the humidity.

A sudden tremor shook the rock I sat on. I lost the delicate barrier between my swarm's senses and I fell, and— oh.

Hot, fetid breath blew over me as the creature snorted and slowly eased its bulk through the tree line.

I slowly turned to look at the impossibility with my own eyes

My eyes first caught on the stubby little arms tipped with sharp claws held close to the massive, mottled green chest — almost like it was a praying mantis — then drifted upward to the… to the teeth that overhung its huge lower jaw.

I glanced down to the giant, three-toed, birdlike feet as if eased forward a bit then back up to its teeth as its maw parted.

"Oh Granny, what big teeth you've got..." I couldn't say what prompted me to it, maybe the ludicrousness of the situation, or maybe a bit of hysteria over it all. But whatever the reason, it seemed to trigger something in the Tyrannosaurus and it let out a deafening roar.

I choked the air with my swarm and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

C'est La Vie (Worm/MTG/Jurassic World) #01.2

—

If not for the fact I was fleeing for life, I'd have said running through the jungle was a walk in the park. Even without watching where I was going there were no surprises… except for the one chasing me, of course,. But that was one mistake I wouldn't be repeating soon.

Raising my arms I ran through a tangle of low branches and blocked all but one, a narrow branch — a switch — snapped at my face as I ran past. Warm wetness ran down my cheek. I should have blocked it, but— right. No right arm to block. That was going to be a problem.

A small cluster of short palms was coming up and I ran straight through without a second thought. The rough edges cut and slapped at my face where I couldn't block.

It didn't matter though — none of it mattered — the jungle being torn apart and the earthshaking footsteps hot on my heels made certain of that.

I just made sure I was too far away for it to eat while my rapidly growing swarm scouted ahead of me and tried to shake off the dinosaur. The first part was going great, I knew every obstruction in my path. The second part… not so much.

While there were many fliers that I'd picked up in my swarm that had a venomous sting or bite, none were actually strong enough to do anything to its thick hide. Not even airlifting more potent crawlers onto it had had much of an effect and every time I went for the eyes it either blinked them away or just flat out ignored them.

It was just too big.

A fallen tree trunk was coming up in fifteen… twelve… six… three… I hurtled the half buried and termite infested tree, fumbled the landing, but caught myself and kept running.

Seconds later, my pursuer bulldozed through the trunk and- ! Heart jumping into my throat, I jumped and braced myself as half the trunk arced in my direction.

Too high to jump, and too low to duck under, I could do nothing but take the hit. Lucky me, the desiccated wood crumbled as a termite softened portion softened the impact hit and I was thrown from the clearing.

Not that it didn't hurt, though; my left side everything was probably going to be interesting shades of purple by tomorrow. At least the shrubs I landed in were soft… relatively speaking.

Thorny twigs stuck and poked at me through my suit, but the spider silk blunted them as well as if they had been knives.

Back in the clearing, the T-Rex slowed to a stop and looked about for its prey. Me.

Heart jackhammering in my chest, I scrambled out of the bush and took off into the foliage while redirecting my swarm to scout ahead in my new direction as I ran as fast as I could. Hopefully it wouldn't— nope.

I don't know what tipped it off, but whatever the case, the dinosaur picked something up and was back in pursuit much quicker than I'd have liked.

But at least now I had a bit more of a lead.

Now I could try and work something out.

It wasn't Crawler who could regenerate from any damage my swarm inflicted but could be trapped, It wasn't Lung who could simply burn through the swarm even as he was being poisoned, And it wasn't Alexandria who could ignore the swarm until she was choking on it.

The T-Rex couldn't regenerate, it couldn't breathe fire, and it wasn't indestructible. It was just big, but without any of my usual tricks available to me that seemed to be enough.

Its skin was too thick to get through and I had no prep time to lure it into a trap, It's body mass was too much for my limited swarm to effectively poison, And trying to suffocate just let me learn it lungs were too powerful for anything to stick.

"This is what I get for trying to be normal for a minute, isn't it," I panted. No one answered, but did I honestly expect anyone to?

Fliers coalesced ahead of me to form a fuzzy wall of black chitin that nearly drowned out the noises of the jungle and the footsteps behind me. I ran through it but moments later so did the T-Rex.

Ok. So it either didn't care about walls or it knew better. Either way, that hadn't worked so…

Sidestepping a rock in my path I searched the jungle ahead for something — anything — that might help. In the meantime, I just needed to keep running no matter what… I just needed to keep running.

Heh, if someone had told me this was how my jogging would end up being useful I'd have probably laughed at them… but, well, hurray for cardio.

All this running — sprinting more like — was starting to wear on me though, not to mention I had absolutely no clue when I'd last eaten. Oh, and wasn't that going to be fun.

A thick trunked tree was coming up, easily seven feet wide at the base with thick roots that rose a few feet above the ground. But was it big enough to hide behind or would the dinosaur see through the ruse? Nothing to do but try.

I gathered a fraction of my swarm there, condensed it, gave it shape and form.

Hurtling over a waist high tree root I slid to a stop before scrambling to press myself as close to the white trunk as possible while the simulacrum continued down my original path.

Tired as I was getting from the running, I held my breath as the footsteps drew closer and closer and only released it after it followed my clone into the bush.

The hunter followed after hot on 'my' heels and was quickly catching up, though. I pushed the swarm to move faster, to take it further away, but there was only so much I could do before it would lose consistency and fall apart.

Pushing off from the tree I took off. I caught a flash of white teeth closing around the clone. A moment later a roar shook the jungle. I ran harder and my crashing was louder than ever with the absence of bird songs.

It stopped and cocked its head.

I watched it through my swarm as I ran and started getting flashbacks of fighting Lung on that first night out.

The head turned in my direction.

No. Don't you-

It turned around.

Fuck.

There was nothing to do but keep running while my swarm scouted ahead and try to think of a plan.

This thing was essentially a brute, albeit a big brute. Sure I had methods to deal with brutes, but all of those were geared to an urban environment with alleyways, and rooftops, and cars, and light poles, and... and just more.

I wasn't equipped to handle a two story tall Brute without prep, and to make it worse what few reference points I did have for that were for fighting Endbringers… which actually wasn't that bad a comparison thinking about it. But again, not very helpful as that boiled down to 'Try not to die' and 'Stay out of its reach'.

So what was there to do. Flood the area with my swarm and hide? Well... I seriously considered that as I wove through a grove of small trees.

That might work, but what about sound and smell? It seemed to be able to hear me pretty well. But then it was a predator, and following that train of thought, there was no reason it couldn't smell me just as well. And all this running was going to leave me smelling rather ripe before long- An unnaturally flat stone surface at the edge of my range.

I felt at it with a bit of my swarm. It was way too smooth to be natural. Artificial? I threw more of my swarm at it while ducking under a thick, moss covered branch.

The surface was perfectly flat with some kind of metal box on one side and caged lights along the edge. Smooth, save for cracks and pitting, and the texture didn't say stone but rather concrete… and set into a rock face?

I found a concrete border at the center of the concrete; right angles at the top- corners, running from ground level and going up eight feet, across three feet, then coming back down. And inside the border, metal.

I tried not to get my hopes up as I felt it out, but it was hard. The surface was pitted with rust and peeling paint, but there was another piece of metal protruding from its left side approximately four feet above the ground. A door. It had to be. There was nothing else that fit. The why was irrelevant, it could lead down to a drug cartel's meth lab for all I cared, just that it was there and that it led anywhere other than here.

Flooding the area I formed a better mental image and confirmed it was a half hexagon concrete facade set into a cliff face, with the additional detail that there were some vines hanging down in front of the door and some palm trees on either side. The inside was another matter, though; there wasn't much to work with so I had to send my swarm under the door.

A room. Not too small, but not very big. Dark and damp, with some kind of rusted machinery and a lightly cluttered metal shelf.

And the outside… the vegetation was sparse, more so than it should be if it were natural and as my swarm grew the closer I got the clearer things became. A dirt road with a single rail running down the center, there was little else it could be. There was also some sort of… fencing running alongside it? Metal posts, rusted, were coming out of a concrete base at regular intervals with thick metal cables hanging loosely between them.

There was a solid metal gate in the road, crumbled and deformed, with a matching sized cap in the fence

What?

A chunk of my swarm disappearing off the T-Rex as it smashed through a low hanging branch made me all too aware of the timetable I was on and stopped looking at the big picture to focus on the important details.

The door; would it open? It was covered with rust and had suffered from exposure to the tropical weather for who knew how long, but what about the handle? Was it frozen shut from rust? Was the door locked?

Ants and other crawlers worked themselves into the gap between the jamb and the door; searching out any obstructions or obstacles.

Aside from the door latch and a pile of leaves and some debris at the foot there didn't seem to be anything in the way of opening the door. There was a bolt, but it was retracted into the door frame. As for the handle... several the ants made their way into the mechanism before getting trapped in something thick and sticky.

Just a hundred feet away now and I could make out my objective. A curtain of vines hung down in front of it as I'd seen, but sure enough, it was there; pale tannish-grey concrete with a rusted door set into a black rock face.

Covering the distance to the edge of the jungle I burst into the open, absently noting that, yes, it did look like there was a dirt road (red with iron) and that there did appear to be some kind of fence running beside it. But that was just information in the periphery, I was focused on the door.

My lungs were burning as I pushed aside the vines and threw myself at the door handle. It turned, but only part way before grinding to a stop; not from any lock though, it was rough and halting.

I worked the handle back and forth a few times, making a little progress with every attempt while my ants' confirmed that the latch retracted a little each time.

But it wasn't enough; the T-Rex was getting closer and closer, to the point I could almost feel its footsteps.

Just being within range meant it was too close.

I threw up insect clones at random and that seemed to slow it down a little. However, after three attempts at snapping three and coming up empty, it ignored the others focused on my trail; moving increasingly faster with each passing moment.

I brought my elbow down on the handle and it turned even further. It also made my arm go numb, but I ignored it and brought my elbow down again, and again, and again.

It was getting closer.

I brought my elbow down again, and at that point, the only thing saving me from a broken elbow was the armor and padding built in my costume.

That didn't mean my arm wasn't unaffected, though; but what was one more bruise?

Shifting position and pressing my stump against the door to balance, I lifted my leg and smashed the heel of my boot down on the handle. It turned the rest of the way with a short screech and I fell on my ass, but I was able to confirm that the latch fully receded thanks to the ants'.

The T-Rex wasn't getting any further away, and- and that was really fucking close!.

Scrambling to my feet, I cranked the handle and hauled back on the door. Putting all my weight and strength into opening the damn thing I managed to pull it open on shrieking, rust encrusted hinges before it ground to a stop.

Shit.

I pulled back on the door again, and again, and again. There was a rapidly growing fear in the back of my mind that with each pull that I might snap handle off but I kept it up anyway, all I needed was a foot.

Branches snapped a short ways into the jungle and I flooded the air with all my fliers; turning the area into a reenactment of the 8th plague of Egypt.

The heavy door ground open just enough as the ancient predator neared the road and I pushed myself into the gap. Almost, It almost wasn't enough. I sucked in my breath and slipped through scant seconds before it broke through the tree line.

It stopped and stooped down to sniff the ground. My swarm went for its nostrils, but only made it so far before it exhaled and took one step toward my hiding place, then another, and another.

Frantically, I grabbed for the handle and pulled. The hinges shrieked as I pulled it shut. Almost as if I was waving a 'here I am' sign, it charged and slammed its head against the door.

With how heavy the door was, I was pretty sure that it was solid steel or close enough. So needless to say, it was heavy. I'd barely managed to close it a few inches before it was forced to shut so fast it hit me in the chest and I thrown back.

At least I didn't hit my head.

I sat up a little as the T-Rex hit it again and something creaked under the strain. But it held.

Laying back I gently rested my head on the floor while it paced back and forth outside, listening to its footsteps and watching it through my swarm.

Too bad, so sad. No easy meal for you.

Chest heaving, I cracked a small smile as and closed my eyes.

Well, it could keep pacing for all I cared; I wasn't coming out.

—


	3. Chapter 3

C'est La Vie (Worm/MTG/Jurassic World) #01.3

 **—** **—** **—** **—** **—**

"BooroooBOOmm"

Glancing over, I frowned at the door to my little hideaway — cracked, to let light in — as thunder rolled outside.

That was… what? The fifth time since- No, if counting the one that had woken me up then that would be the sixth. So, six times in about an hour with the last few coming close together. It was getting worse out there.

A few old leaves blew in just then as the wind picked up for a moment. I felt the trees sway and some of the fliers were blown off course before landing.

It was almost getting too bad for them to be in the open.

In addition, where before the humidity hadn't been too bad, now it was almost stifling. Possibly the only saving grace was the seemed to have gone down a bit. Didn't change the fact that I could almost drink the air though. And then there was the ozone; now thick enough it couldn't be ignored even if I tried.

I'd been right, a storm was coming and had all the hallmarks of being a big one. What a wonderful start to my sentence.

Thanks, Contessa.

Rolling my shoulders — ignoring the muted twinges in my side — I slid a little further down the cool concrete wall I was sitting against and looked back down to my lap and the water damaged binder I'd found on the shelves after waking up and poking around a bit.

Not much to be found in it, unfortunately; half the pages had run together into a smudged mess or were altogether too faded to make out. What wasn't too damaged though...

The majority of the binder was recorded maintenance logs and feeding schedules, but little details and various notations did give me something to work with. Maybe not enough to pull a full history of the place like Lisa could have, but enough… also, the printed watermarks and footers helped.

Evidently, the T-Rex wasn't the only 'impossible' animal around. Not by a long shot if this place being called 'Jurassic Park' was any indication. Some sort of safari park stocked with dinosaurs if I understood things right.

I glanced down at my meager pile of supplies, "Hmm." Things might not be as easy as I'd initially assumed. Should I have been surprised at this point, though?

Flipping through a few more pages, but finding little more, I set the binder aside and looked back to my meager pile of supplies.

Pursing my lips I patted down my suit again, all but taking it off to get everything out. It still wasn't much. Sifting through the small pile I sorted the various items out into even smaller piles; it helped, just not by much.

For basic supplies, I had what amounted to half a first aid kit, twenty odd feet of silk cord, an emergency costume repair kit, a pocket notebook with pen, smartphone(dead), and a change purse. And for defense, I had my combat knife, an old pepper spray, and a collapsing baton. That was it… Oh, and one thermos jug I'd set down back at the river.

I looked back to the door… "Dammit."

No matter how I cut it there wasn't much to work with. If it had been a normal jungle, sure, but with what I'd learned… being out in the wild here might just get me killed if I didn't do things properly, swarm or no swarm.

Briefly rubbing my eyes I looked over at another, larger, pile made up of some of the things that had been on the shelves. Not that there'd been much there that I could use in the first place. This place seemed to have been meant as a supply depot for large scale repair and maintenance work or some such; many cans of grey paint, some orange and red light bulb covers, and dusty boxes of electrical equipment and water softener parts.

Some of it might be useful down the line, but what was I going to do with it now.

Not to say there wasn't anything promising, though; like a small plastic case with a few hypodermic darts inside. The labels had faded too much to tell what they were, but sticking them in something ought to have some effect. I added it to my pile.

Pulling a flaking red toolbox toward me, I flipped open the lid and rummaged around. I added a rusty — though hefty — flathead screwdriver my pile, a roll of black electrical tape, and a wood handled claw hammer.

There were a few other miscellaneous tools and supplies, but little else I could easily carry or use.

The bolt cutters would be useful to have, however, being down an arm would make them a bit difficult to use on a good day. If I could get leverage, though… I added them to the pile before looking to the door when the wind picked up again and a long peal of thunder rolled high above.

The weather was getting worse, and thinking back to the dry portion of the river I wondered how much rainfall — when it inevitably started pouring — it would take to put it under water.

At any rate, if wanted to get the thermos back it would be now or never.

Grabbing the baton, knife, silk cord and some other basics from my piles, I hauled myself off the cool floor but when my side pulled took a moment to stretch a little; if to keep my bruised side from getting too bad. At the same time, I brought my swarm out of cover where I'd stashed significant portions of them in the tunnel just down the road, in the jungle, and up the road.

I briefly looked at the shelf to where I'd set my flight pack and considered using that but just as quickly discarded it. Better to keep that in reserve and just walk, the river wasn't too far off anyway.

Cocking my head, I looked at the wall where a handful of fliers had been blown into what I'd thought was an overgrown tree stump and landed on a flat surface. I absently directed a few thousand fliers to it, then picked up a small oiler can and jammed the nozzle between the door and frame to pump a liberal amount of oil onto the old hinges.

I stopped as my swarm found edges and shapes and I formed a rough mental image of what looked like a signpost. Huh.

Setting the can aside, I put my shoulder against the door and slowly pushed it open a foot while searching about for any dinosaurs in range.

Dinosaurs, living breathing dinosaurs. That was going to take some getting used to.

Slipping through the gap my eyes were drawn to a large, overgrown tree trunk where a bit of red paint peeked out between a curtain of vegetation.

An overturned car, or rather a jeep if I wasn't mistaken. It was practically buried in plants and debris, but I'd definitely felt out some a few things I could use.

I glanced over to the vine covered signpost, then looking up to the leaden cloud layer that now hung ominously overhead shook my head.

Not the time to be a tourist.

It could start raining at any moment and I'd rather not lose my fliers while out in the bush.

Once I got back though, then I could poke around.

I retraced my harried flight from the river, following the path of destroyed vegetation through the jungle and soon enough I was stepping from the jungle into the rocky river clearing. I made a beeline for the stainless steel shine of the thermos jug pinched between a pair of rocks.

Reaching back to the compartment at the small of my back, I pulled out the silk cord and bent over to extricate the thermos. Still intact, fortunately, just a little dented.

Tying a loop through the handle, I slung the rest across my chest so the jug hung at my hip and began retracing my steps through the jungle again. This time, however, my head was on a swivel; I took my time looking around and soaking in the sights while collecting a few choice additions to the swarm I found along the way.

There was a rumble, but it had little to do with the storm overhead.

Fliers that had been scouting for me now pulled double duty swarming from bush to shrub and from tree to fern; sampling everything and looking for anything that might be edible.

Of course, there were other options, I could have my pick of whatever insect I wanted and birds could get trapped in webs just as easily as bugs could. Without a fire to cook either, though, neither would be very appetizing or possibly even safe to eat.

My stomach rumbled again. I might have no choice in the matter though.

I slowed to a stop as my swarm landed in a sprawling, low-lying shrub at three o'clock some hundred feet into the jungle at the edge of a small clearing.

The shrub had at some point been stripped bare in places, but despite that there were still a fair number of small, stiff skinned berries scattered about in the deeper recesses and untouched.

More importantly, however, I wasn't the only one looking at them. A number of small, long-necked lizards — or dinosaurs as they stood on their hind legs — were working themselves throughout the shrub and snapping up the berries as fast as they could. Almost like a bird would with crumbs.

They were eating the berries though, so they were most likely edible. But they were eating the berries that were edible.

When my stomach rumbled the swarm descended and I pulled out my baton, extending the black rod with a sharp flick of the wrist.

I veered off into the jungle while the little dinosaurs scattered into the brush under the assault of my swarm. One of them though… one, I harried and herded in my direction until a fern rustled and a lime green shape came bursting through the brush. Aiming for the fly on its head my baton flicked out.

The muted "Crack" was almost inaudible against the sounds of the jungle and my swarm. Nevertheless, I heard it, and I felt the vertebrae giving way through the baton.

Re-stowing the baton and picking up the twitching dinosaur I continued on while looking it over. Feeling the muscle in its legs, tail, and back, I felt along its broken neck and pulled down its lips to expose rows of sharp little canines. Definitely a not a herbivore then

Probably some sort of scavenger. Like the dinosaur equivalent of a rat or something.

It was a little heavier than I'd've thought, though. Almost two pounds at a guess… and there had been an awful lot of them.

If I could get a bunch of them and a way to light a fire, figure out how to skin them and make a spit I… I blinked.

It had been a dinosaur. It had been a living, breathing dinosaur and I'd killed it… and all I could think of at the moment was if it I could eat it.

Well, they were supposed to be related to birds so there was a chance it tasted like chicken.

Almost immediately my mouth started to water a little at the thought of chicken, which led to me wonder if it tasted like chicken or not and what... Oh god. I haven't been here a day and I was already thinking about whether a dinosaur tasted like chicken or not. What was wrong with me?

Then again, was that anything special? It was a living, breathing dinosaur, but so what? A living, breathing dinosaur had tried to eat me not a few hours ago, so… actually, I don't think I was going to get too worked up over killing a dinosaur.

If it tasted like chicken, then all the better.

Putting a loop of cord around its long neck I let it hang alongside the jug and continued onto the shrub to find ten-foot area covered with oval green leaves and red berries. Jackpot.

Once I got close though, the appearance of the leaves and berries jogged something loose and I just knew I'd seen these the shrub before. No matter how I tried to recall it though I couldn't get more than a vague recollection of a wildlife documentary... Something to do with bears.

Plucking a berry from a stem I brushed it off on my costume — not that it would do much to clean it — and popped it into my mouth. The skin was firm, almost hard, and resisted before bursting and it was… bland. Gritty too, very gritty, almost like there were tiny little beads in it. Granular was the term?

Different, but I wasn't going to complain. No taste was better than a bad taste anyway.

Wading into the shrub I began stripping the stems and filling my various pockets and suit compartments until they were almost spilling out. Then I opened the thermos and filled that too. And when that was full… With a handful of berries, I patted down my suit looking for one extra pocket I might have missed in the mishmash construction. Uh... nope.

This was going to be a problem.

I considered just tossing them for a moment before throwing back another and making my way back to the path. By the time I made it back to the road I'd finished them off and my stomach had settled somewhat.

Leaving the trees, I started across the road before stopping to look at the hidden jeep then the sign... I sent the swarm to take a closer look at the overturned vehicle while I head for the sign, pulling down and pushing aside vines to uncover a dirty painted bit of plywood cut in the shape of a tooth, or inverted teardrop; green in the center, white along the border.

...An island. I was on an island.

My eyes drifted down to the other signs on the post.

"Visitors center… Triceratops," Reading out the signs I looked up the road where an arrow above the 'Visitors Center' sign pointed, then to the left to the broken fence where the Triceratops arrow pointed.

An island turned into some kind of safari park populated with dinosaurs… Where the hell was I? Land of the Lost? The Lost World? Doyle sure didn't mention a T-Rex or little green dino's in his story, though.

Sighing, I dismissed the speculation and concentrated on the sign of the island.

If I kept heading up the road I would eventually come to the so-called 'visitors center'. But how far away was that? How big was the island?

I couldn't tell, not with what I had and not with so little context as to the distances depicted. As far as I knew the island could be as small as Hawaii or as big as New Zealand and the visitors center was twenty miles away.

Conversely, It looked like if I cut through the center of the island I might be able to shorten up the trip significantly. But again, distances and context.

Looking at the rock face I followed the steep mountain side until I was looking up to the peak.

If I could get up somewhere high though, then I could get a lay of the land...

 **—** **—** **—** **—** **—**


	4. Chapter 4

C'est La Vie (Worm/MTG/Jurassic World) #01.4

* * *

Squatting on the overturned jeeps partially uncovered driver's side door, I was trying to get the bolt cutter blades into place around the side mirror when a wet drop hit my stump. Jumping, I fumbled the cutters and shivered as the bead of rain ran down the rounded end. Then I looked up to the cloudy sky just in time to feel a couple more land on my face. The rain. Shit.

With no small amount of urgency, I repositioned my pilfered bolt cutters so that the mirror post — bent from my initial attempts to break it off — was between the blades with the bottom handle against the body of the vehicle. Half standing, I positioned the handles of between my thighs and squeezed.

A few drops hit my hair, and then even more splattered on the exposed car as my thighs began burning from the strain. As if I didn't already have an excuse to get this done as fast as possible.

It was working through, the handles were slowly closing. Grunting, I squeezed just a _little harder and-_

The cutters sheared through the old metal and the mirror dropped onto the door. But the metal suddenly giving way meant I was unbalanced, and when my hip hit the door the mirror bounced.

Landing on the bottom edge of the door, it started tilting over the edge.

Shit, shit, shit! I scrambled and grabbed for it, but missing by a mile I was only able to watch it land on one corner and wince at the sharp _crunch_ of breaking glass before it fell on its face.

Shit.

Awkwardly jumping down, I picked up the mirror and turned it over to see a corner of the - too dirty to be reflective - reflective glass had been all but crushed into little fragments with one long crack running through the middle to the other corner. Just my luck.

"Well, it could've been worse." Shaking my head, I tucked the mirror under my right armpit, grabbed the bolt cutters and walked back to my shelter. Simultaneously, my swarm poured out of the jeep with most of the crawlers dispersing into the jungle while the fliers headed toward the tunnel.

There might have been a few more things in the jeep, useful things I could use, but at the moment the time it would take to extricate them wasn't worth the effort. It wouldn't be going anywhere, though, so if need be I could always come back and salvage later.

Also, there were just a _few_ problems with staying to dig around in it for too long. For one, getting caught in the rain wasn't my idea of fun despite likely needing it. I hadn't checked, but I'm sure I was quite ripe under my suit.

There were also the issues in that I'd literally need to dig through the thing in order to reach them and that I was already somewhat over encumbered.

Those were problems, but minor ones. The real issue, however, was that - surprise, surprise - the T-Rex was lurking around just up the road. Well, not _up_ the road, more where the road went. It had been in the Triceratops area, standing in a little lake with its head under a waterfall… and the entire time I'd been out I hadn't had a clue.

Oh, how _lovely_ it had been to find out that little tidbit. Go up the road, see what's there, nothing can go wrong because I have my swarm to give me some forewarning about whatever is out there… except for the enormous predator, which I hadn't noticed because it was _outside_ my range.

I grimaced and kicked a rock in my way. My range, that seemed to be a recurring issue, hadn't it? Even when I could know every inch of everything within hundreds of feet it was never enough. Regardless, being out in the open wasn't going to work, at least not for long. Maybe I could find somewhere out of the way?

An idea, but that was something I could worry about when I was _far away_ from the T-Rex.

At any rate, going up the road wasn't going to work. Not to say going down the road would necessarily be better, but at least it wasn't likely to have a T-Rex at the other end and I was pretty sure the tunnel ceiling was too low for it.

Of course, the smart thing would be to just stay in the shelter; wait it out like I did after our first encounter. But then what? Stay holed up in there, worrying that it was just outside my range and not setting foot outside?

What about food, though? Or water? And what about when I ultimately did need to go outside…

No… no that wouldn't work, better to just get out of the area while I had an idea of where it was and take advantage of the rain to wipe out any trail it might be able to follow.

Besides, even if the 'Rex wasn't there, I hadn't seen a way around the cliff the waterfall was coming off of. So all the left was going _down_ the road.

Slipping into the shelter I dropped the bolt cutters and setting the mirror on the shelf got to work gathering up my things as it began to rain outside.

With pockets bulging and compartments stuffed to the point of bursting, I re-slung my silk cord across my chest and began attaching things with simple cinch loops. Thermos jug, claw hammer, bolt cutters, hypodermic dart case, mirror, and finally the jury-rigged cardboard tube holding my berries that I'd cut from a box and wrapped in electrical tape. By the time I'd finished, it was as if I was carrying a cinder block around from how the cord dug into my collarbone.

But it worked, that's what mattered. And so long as I didn't need to do anything more than walk I'd be fine. If I _did_ have to, however… I looked down at the dead weight on my hip. "What the hell am I doing?"

Shaking my head, I adjusted the cord as much I could and tightened the straps to my flight pack: something I hoped I wouldn't need. Nevertheless, the bugs to control it were in place and ready to send me airborne at a moment's notice. Even if using it shortened the lifespan of the tinker tech, I wasn't getting chased through a jungle again. Nope, that wasn't happening again.

Alternatively though, even if I refrained from using it, I was still going to lose it. Not a pleasant thought. The flight pack was useful, very useful, and too useful to just let it sit and eventually break from disrepair. But Defiant wasn't around to maintain it, so who knew how long it would last. Or hell, what would happen when it actually _broke_.

...Was this supposed to be what Prince Caspian felt? To use it, or not to use it?

I sighed and double checked that I had everything, and scanning over the shelves one last time slipped out into the pattering rain to put my shoulder against the door. The hinges, oiled but still old, screeched as I pushed it shut before heading for the tunnel.

Passing through the blocky concrete portal and out of the rain as it started coming down more heavily, I ran my fingers back through my now damp hair, combing it back and setting the orb weavers to finish cleaning it up while I walked. It didn't take long, though the tunnel wasn't exactly short, to reach the other end and in that time the rain had picked up to a downpour. And standing there at the mouth of the tunnel, staring out into the driving rain as it turned the road to mud, I realized I _might_ have miscalculated.

I'd known the storm might be bad, yes, but I'd underestimated just _how_ bad.

Save for during Leviathan's attack, the conditions were already nearing some of the worst I'd seen growing up in Brockton. Not even Chicago, the 'windy city', had had anything like this at any point in my two years there. This wasn't something coming off the lakes or a system brought in on the jet stream, though. No, this was a tropical storm, with thousands of miles of warm ocean water to keep it fueled.

Yes, the golden orb weaver and the climate had indicated I was somewhere close to the equator, but this… well, the idea had been to try and get a little further, but this was a bit much.

Squinting, I tried to look through the rain. Hell, I could see maybe… what, ten feet out?

I swallowed. Turn back and try to make it back to the shelter, or wait it out right here?

I had no doubt I could open the door again, but what about the 'Rex? It had been by the waterfall but where was it now? With this weather I would be all but blind outside. Though with how bad it was getting, what were the chances that something _else_ might come to the tunnels for shelter?

Staring into the rain my teeth caught my lower lip and began to gnaw. Can't go forward, and can't go back.

"Fuck."

Untying the thermos, I forced the bottom into the mud to keep in place as it collected rain and turned on my heel to retreat a bit further into the tunnel. If I was going to stay here, I may as well not be _completely_ out in the open.

Stopping some hundred feet into the tunnel, I slung off my cord wrapped load and laid it out on the ground before settling down myself. Not even an hour ago I was in a hurry, and now I was waiting for the rain to ease up… I sighed and shuffled back against the tunnel wall.

Girl, Hero, Villain, Warlord, Hero, Monster; so many masks and titles, but for what?

The first had had so many hopes and dreams for the future, but the second hadn't lasted a single night before being cast aside for the third… and even when re-donned, in the end, it'd ultimately been the least effective of the lot.

"Now look at me," I muttered while the orb weavers crawled out of my hair and a few sacrificial moths landed in front of me. Closing my eyes, the 'weavers went to work while a couple bound and prepared the moths. "Stopped by a bit of rain and uncertainty."

 **C'est La Vie**

I opened my eyes as a deep, resonating call echoed somewhere in the distance. Looking down the tunnel, I watched the light drizzle splatter in the muddy road until a cloud moved overhead and the sun shone down.

Finally. The storm was _finally_ winding down after however many hours of waiting, three jugs of rainwater, two trips to relieve myself, and one impromptu rain bath.

Stretching, I grabbed my toes before twisting to loosen up. The left side of my torso throbbed with each twist and pull and turn, but I did it anyway. After getting a good look at my ribs while cleaning up... Well, it hurt, but it was for my own good and I'd rather it not come back to bite me in my nonexistent ass.

Eventually, though, after I finished torturing myself, I pulled my boots on and started packing; pockets and compartments were filled, silk cord and equipment was slung across my chest, and the orb weavers crawled back into my hair while I picked up the grey-yellow cloth they'd been working on.

My first costume, my original 'wow you look like a villain' costume, had taken thousands of black widows a few days (spread over several weeks admittedly) to spin. A simple satchel though, that would only take a day or so at the rate the significantly larger orb weavers could work.

Folding and carefully tucking it into the compartment at the small of my back, I reached the mouth of the tunnel and looked up to the sky.

While the majority of the view was the clear blue sky I'd first woken to, it was still a bit cloudy with more than a few dark thunderheads scattered about. But didn't look like it would turn into anything too awful and the warmth of the sun felt wondrous.

I breathed in, filling my lungs with the scents of the clean air, drenched jungle, and lingering ozone. It was... clean. Although the road...

Looking down I stared at the wet, mushy re-brown mess that had become of the road. Once hardpack, it was now little more than pure mud with little bits of subsumed gravel poking through in places.

Good thing there was a path through it all, though. Side stepping onto the rail running through the center of the road I put one foot in front of the other, and walking out into the open looked around to see there were a few options open to me.

To the left and the right the railed road continued; clear, with little vegetation growing along it and pure mud. In contrast, however, the path between the two roads was little more than a dirt path. Whatever it'd been, a service road or unfinished railed road, it hadn't held up nearly as well as the tracked road had and the jungle was already reclaiming it.

My greater swarm was still recovering from the storm and it would take a bit longer for their wings to dry. Having the jungle that close and with my swarm still somewhat limited… Lisa's snark wasn't necessary for me to know that would've been stupid. Moreover, I wanted to go _up_ , and wherever that led it wasn't anywhere high up.

And left… seeing it turn left again a mile or so down the road made me think that it led back the direction I'd come, back to the T-Rex. Even if in a roundabout way, it was still going back toward the T-Rex… and that wasn't happening.

I looked right and past the waist-high concrete base, rusted inward facing posts and cables of the tall fence to the jungle and _steep_ mountain slope beyond. Mmm.

Glancing down the road ahead, I could just make out the blocky concrete entrance to another tunnel at the end of a bend in the road. Between the two options, the mountain didn't look very appealing. It might be doable, but there was also the likelihood that I might have need of my flight pack somewhere along the line.

Well, I was trying to get a lay of the land. If it was worse down the road I could just come back. Worse than the T-Rex though. Huh. Or I could just keep walking… yeah, walking would work.

What fliers were ready took to the air and my feet carried me down the road. Quickly enough, the tunnel came into view and looking above its concrete arch my eyes traced over the steep rocky mountain it ran beneath. Then, to the even _taller_ mountain beyond that covered in dense jungle.

My lips turned up and I continued along the rail; a small smile on my lips and a spring in my step. Things were _looking up_ , and so far going rather smoothly.

Although, the same couldn't be said about whatever had happened to this place. Rounding the bend my eyes skimmed across the rusted wreckage of the fencing strewn across the road, then to the white of a ceramic toilet peeking out from amongst the encroaching vegetation.

Interesting. But didn't stop. With the state of this place, I had little doubt I'd see more of the same if I kept following the road.

Making my way through the tunnel without issue, I emerged on the other side and found the fencing arrangement had changed; the tall fence was now on my left, and a smaller six-foot fence - like back at the shelter - on the right.

My attention lingered on the tall fence, however; It was unfinished? The base was in place and the posts sunk into the concrete with a blue and orange light assembly at the top, but there were no cables in place for as far as I could see. _More_ interesting.

So maybe this place hadn't actually been finished when whatever had happened, happened? If it happened quick enough that the place was still being built… Well, a lot of stuff went into construction, a lot of supplies and equipment and tools, and if any of that had been abandoned when whatever happened… then that bode well for future scavenging opportunities.

I glanced at the thick jungle on either side of me despite my swarm inundating the vegetation. Rather surprised, though, that nothing had tried to attack me yet. With all this space, I would've thought there would be more dinosaurs than what I'd seen. But nothing.

Naturally, it was just a few minutes later that I became aware of three person sized figures stalking through the jungle. And in my direction. Dammit. I kept walking to see how they would react while tracking them through my swarm as they pushed through several ferns to change direction.

Yup, they were coming for me. Awesome. It was almost funny though, as my swarm gathered to a critical number I managed to get a better look at them and was reminded of how Bastard and a few of Rachel's dogs hunted wild rabbits… except I was the rabbit in this story.

A high pitched call, almost like a warbling hoot, rang out from the jungle and my lips pressed together. I stopped, and triangulating the source looked at a section of the six-foot fence that'd been all but crushed into the dirt. It also just so happened to be where the three dinosaurs were lurking, just out of sight.

"Sorry," I called out. "I'm not anyone's lunch." Unleashing the bulk of my swarm on the three dinosaurs, I kept walking down the road while they fled.

Fortunately, the trio either no longer seemed interested in what they had likely considered easy prey or run off to lick their wounds. Either way, I was able to continue down the road uninterrupted, just walking and listening to the sounds of the jungle around me when my swarm found an irregularity in the tall fence; a clearly delineated gap in the base.

Coming around a gentle curve in the road, I caught sight of the gap a short ways further down the road; a section where more red than brown dirt intersected the darker main road. At the same time, I began getting some interesting information back from my fliers and worms; in particular, the picture of a winding road that led up the mountain.

Stopping alongside the gap, I looked through to see a deformed swing gate hanging on a metal post on the left side of the opening with a particularly overgrown road leading into the jungle beyond.

I glanced to the right of the gap, to another of the white and green signs; this one showing the archetypical clipart of a transmitting radio tower set in a circle over the silhouette of the island.

I glanced up to the mountaintop and tried to gauge the slope through the trees. But there was apparently a road so whatever the slope was somewhat irrelevant. And a radio tower, weren't those usually set up at high points for better line of sight?

Lips turning up a bit, I stepped off the rail to follow the overgrown road.

I quickly found the route to be… unpleasant, not far up the mountain it started getting steep and not long after that that I began sweating in earnest.

Jogging was one thing, but hiking… thinking back I'm afraid my use of the flight pack over the past few years has really spoiled me somewhat. Of course, it could all be over in an instant. Just a thought and I could soar straight up to the top of the mountain without having to sweat through my suit anymore than I already had.

But I held back… why again? I stopped to lean against a small green tree for a moment and kneaded my aching calves and thighs.

Why… oh yes, because it was going to inevitably break, and that it would undoubtedly break sooner rather than later. But fuck if it wasn't tempting.

Taking a moment more to sip from the thermos I started walking again.

Gripping aside, though, it wasn't _terrible._

The road - or rather what was left of it - wasn't anything close to dry, but it wasn't a sopping mess like the railed road. And sure, several sections had been washed out - recently and in the past going by the plant growth - and that had forced me to climb through the jungle to get around, but those areas were few and far between.

That said, what it was was _tedious_. Due to how the road looped back and forth around the mountain with steep, back to back switchbacks in places, and long sections of gradual incline in others.

It was a trek. And in some areas, I skipped the road entirely in favor of hiking through the jungle to get to the next length rather than go the long way around.

It was nonsensical... well, almost. While looking up the mountain from the main road I hadn't been able to see a trace of the road, and probably wouldn't've known it existed at all if not for the gate. And that was almost certainly the point. Taking into account that this place was supposedly supposed to be some sort of safari park, it stood to reason that the builders wouldn't want it to be visible from the railed road- especially if this intended to be within an enclosure.

Glancing up at the leafy canopy above and appreciating the merciful shade it provided, I kept putting one foot in front of the other. Hell, it probably wouldn't be visible from the air either.

Peking up I looked to the left and stared through the jungle as several basement spiders came back into range. Shouldn't be much longer now.

Taking control of the spiders I put them back on the path's they'd been on and set them to finish mapping the dimensions of the cool, dark, well-ventilated room they were in. A basement or something. Whatever the room was, it wasn't out above ground as far as I could tell.

I'd yet to get my swarm into it, but from what I could see it was _big._ Well, not big, but it was a good size room and much larger than the shelter.

Through a gap in the jungle, I glimpsed a small, off white high voltage sign dangling sideways on rust encrusted cables bound with vines. Some of my fliers, swarming around at the edge of my shifting range, suddenly encountered a grated cupola rising out of the ground and they poured down it like a flood.

Cool, dark, well ventilated.

Smiling, I picked up the pace regardless of what it was doing to my legs. If only it wasn't such a damn pain to- no, wait, dumb thought. The trip up here being hard is _exactly_ what I'd want.

My swarm found a short hall leading out of the room and a small pool of stagnant water with mosquito larvae in it that had come in from _somewhere_.

Rounding a steep switchback, I looked up the road and saw an open set of gates. No, rather a pair of gates that likely worked as a sort of airlock. Open one set, go in, close, open the other gate, go. It probably would have been an effective system for keeping unwanted things out if not for the tall fence post and cables right next to it being a mangled mess.

The buzz of my fliers filled the air as I drew closer and closer to the gate, my swarm fleshing out an image of the underground room and the double doors and wide barred window at the entrance. Passing through the airlock gates I… Ideas of safety and security, of having a place to sleep without worrying about being eaten, went by the wayside as I walked right past the overgrown, concrete building reminiscent of an ammo bunker set into a slope leading to further up the mountain.

Instead, I focused on the verdant mountains, dense jungle, grassy plain, and the deep blue ocean.

Setting my swarm to scour the mountaintop I crossed the muddy, overgrown lot and not even the half collapsed wreckage of a red and white, overgrown radio tower drew more than a passing glance I stopped before a weathered guardrail and looked out over the treetops with my head on a pivot.

Focusing on the fog-shrouded mountains at the end of the island and following them back as they formed a steep, ribbed ridge that created a valley between them and the mountain I was on. I nearly couldn't say for certain whether I was on an island or not though, as the opposing mountains were _just_ tall enough that I was unable to see beyond. But looking back the way I'd come, and despite the jungle blocking my immediate view of the road below, I was could see the more ocean through another valley where the ribbed mountain ridge ended and a more sloping mountain began.

My eyes traced back and forth over the jungle, catching momentarily on little details and following faint lines just barely visible throughout the foliage— roads, no doubt. And further in, both toward the opposing mountain and back the way I'd come, a pair of large rivers that intersected a few miles inland ran out to a marshy delta intersecting a long strip of white beach the ran the edge of the island for as far as I could see.

I was on an island paradise, an island paradise with dinosaurs.

While taking in the picturesque view, though, I almost didn't notice the touch; _warm, light and airy, but violent and un_ \- I spun and grabbed for the presence, my fingers locking around…My breath caught and I stared at the empty air past my extended stump, at where my hand should be, and where I _knew_ I'd grabbed something.

The presence writhed in my grip and in streamers between my fingers, something insubstantial but very much there. It fought, but refusing to let it go I held it all the tighter; trying to figure out what the hell I this thing— It vanished. My missing fingers clenched into a fist from its sudden absence and in the next moment … I became aware of _something_. An… impression?

The impression smelt, sounded, and _felt_ like the Jungle; from the tallest trees to the smallest fern. Ancient, and dangerous and deadly, yet teeming with life that's managed to endure in its hidden depths.

"...What?"

* * *

So there we go, she's got her first land and wow #4 took way longer than the outline indicated and ended up way longer than I thought itd be. Probably should have just split it into two snips but the first portion seemed a little too slow for that.

But anyway, thats that for chapter one. Now... I think Im going to go back to 1-3 and fix a few screwups before I start work on #2.1 and digging into MtG to figure out how Im going to convert more of the mechanics for use in a story setting. (much appreciated if anyone can help with this(card suggestions, lore, etc)


	5. Chapter 5

C'est La Vie (Worm / MtG)

 **—**

 _"Tap… tap… tap"_

Tapping the pen against the desktop, I stared down at my little notebook and the list I'd been putting together. Well, trying to put together.

Funny, how when you need to remember something you can never remember it.

It was almost to the point that if I could've I'd've been cupping my cheek, listening to the rain and falling asleep trying to remember what I'd been—

Putting pen to paper, I scribbled out a few more lines of notes in the chicken scratch that was my off handwriting and leaned back in the creaky old desk chair, skimming over the list.

It wasn't that long, but for my current situation, it may as well be the devil's wishlist. Hell, it probably wouldn't even be the last page once I got started:

Pg.76

— _Jungle Impression thing_?

— _Presence thing_?

— _Figure why it felt like I had physical feedback from my missing arm_

— _Make Satchel and/or backpack to help me forage and scavenge_ ( _Sacks_ , _Bags_ , _etc_ )

— _A bed and bedding_ ( _Hammock_?) _Net/Sheet style_?)

I leaned forward to scratch out a line before leaning back. Problems aside, I already got that.

— _Shelter_ ( _Can be a bit better_ )

— _Clothes_ ( _Sundress_ , _Raincoat_ , _pants, shorts, underthings_ , _shirts_ , _drawstrings_?) **_NEW COSTUME_!** ( _Or just a new body suit_ )

— _Dye's_ ( _Tree bark_? _Roots_? _Blood_? _Mashed leaves_? _Dirt (the iron_ ), _The berries_ , ?) _Shiny gold silk too shiny_ )

— _Seal the leaky hatch_

— ** _FIRE_!** ( _Flares_ , _matches_ , _lighter_ , _gasoline_ , _two pieces of metal_ , _magnesium_ , **_ANYTHING_** )

 _—Cooking_? ( _Dino meat_? _Birds_? _Bugs_? _Forage_?) Berries? Roots?)

— _Need Pot_ / _Pan and cooking utensils_ ( _Fire pit grate_?) _Grill_?)

— _Find a proper/complete map_ ( _Visitors Center_? _Airfield_? _Workers Complex_? _WTP_?)

— _Make the front doors easier to open_

— _Clear the plants blocking the window_

— _Clean window_

— _Fallback/Backup location_? (First area?)No.)

— _Where to go next_?

— _What can I make_? ( _Silk clothe_ s, _wood containers_ ( _using termites_ ), ?, ?) _Honey_ )

— _Waterproofing (Beeswax?)_

— _Clean water supply_ ( _Water boiling_ / _filtration_?)

I grimaced and tapped the pen against my thigh. Water...

Well, water, for the time being, was no issue. The storm coming back around for a second and a third pass over the last two days had ensured I was now stocked up with gallons of the stuff. In filing cabinet drawers sealed with dragline silk, yes, however until I figured out something better it seemed to be working just fine.

But what about in the future? What about storing it and keeping it from going stagnant? What about if the skies were clear for months on end and the only non-salient source left to me was river or stream water that was suspect at best. Boiling would work to sanitize water well enough, but that required fire and fire was something in short supply in addition to needing fuel. Charcoal, sand, and cloth, though? I could do that. I still couldn't be completely certain about the water being safe to drink that boiling it would give me, but it would be better than drinking straight from a stream. Then there was the issue of water being eight pounds to the gallon.

And then there was food… In retrospect, I should've realized being at the top of a difficult to traverse mountain wasn't going to do me any favors. And I was already more than halfway through my berries.

I groaned and rocked back in my creaky chair.

Secure, yes. Fed and watered… less so. Sadly, a grocery store does not a defunct radio building make.

Although location difficulties aside, I probably couldn't have found a better place to hunker down in and beggars can't be choosers.

Sure, my new shelter wasn't exactly the cleanest of places, but again, coming back to it being _at the top of a damn mountain_ …

Tossing the pen on the desk, I ran a hand back through my hair and spun around to look at the large, dimly lit room that I'd familiarized myself with over the past two days… not as if there'd been much else to do, though.

Well, besides clean that is, and I'd already done as much of that as I could as I could… at least for the room. A pair of double doors in back led to a short hall running into the mountain and that was another story.

There wasn't much back there: a lavatory with sink and toilet, a small generator room, and an access hatch at the very end with a ladder leading to the base of the collapsed radio tower higher up-slope. However, there was just a _bit_ of an issue in that the hatch was leaking, and had been for some time as far as I could tell.

It was like a cooler that hadn't been emptied back there, or a refrigerator that had gone without power for too long and left to sit. Things had started growing, and I knew well enough from the aftermath of Leviathan's attack to leave that alone until my swarm had cleaned it up.

Besides that though, the place was habitable enough, if a bit… lacking.

In its current state, I was almost constantly reminded of an old cage, or my old jail cell, what with the concrete walls and skeletal drop ceiling frame. I knew, intellectually, that it was all in my head. Psychosomatic. But as it was, even with the doors open to let fresh air and light in I was getting a little cabin fever.

The place was just too… clinical, and barren. I didn't doubt that would change over time as I settled in, but for now, the conditions were just a little grating on my already frayed nerves.

Of course, it wasn't _entirely_ empty. Just mostly in proportion to the size of the room. There was the desk, some empty filing cabinets on the wall next to it, and a rusty old metal shelf in the back packed with binders and books filled technical manuals, diagrams, and guides. All of the literature was for the tall racks of old radio equipment running along the far left wall most likely. It had all been disconnected, though, and in the center of the rack was an absolutely _ancient_ —though no doubt modern for the day— modem and off white CRT monitor.

Likely left in place as a backup for if they needed to revert if the computer failed or something.

And then there was the generator down the hall, so there were some things left over. Little useful aside from scrap metal and kindling, but the racking that held the old radio equipment might come in handy.

Maybe as shelves or something.

But aside from that, not much. Pilfering through the desk had only earned me an as yet unlocked bottom drawer, a pair of old binoculars with a cracked strap, some random bits clutter that would accumulate in a desk, and a miraculously intact but dog-eared paperback copy of Jailbird. I didn't appreciate the irony.

So aside from some setbacks, the cleanup of this place was going well enough. But there was still no small amount of work to do.

A broom and some _old_ cleaning supplies from a cabinet of cleaning supplies next to the generator had helped, but not as much as I'd've liked and even with the swarm eating the worse of it there was still a lot left to clean. Something that was, and conversely wasn't, helped by the state of the place.

I eyed the roving patches of black moving back and forth across the floor and walls like Roombas, eating whatever was edible or piling whatever wasn't at the entrance. To the latter part they weren't very effective as I'd gotten most of that myself, but for the mold and mildew that had built up back in the hall and beneath a whole bunch of fallen drop ceiling tiles… well without them I don't know how I'd have safely dealt with that.

Probably a good thing the computer had been hooked up in place of the radio equipment and this place largely decommissioned actually. If there had been _more_ left behind, like say a couch that had been dripped on for over a decade or something, then that would have allowed all kinds of hell to grow instead of it just creating a puddle on the floor that could dry up.

So in a way, its emptiness might very well have been what let it hold up… I was probably overthinking this. What _really_ mattered was this place being converted into a network terminal for the island at some point.

Where that network extended to though… I had some idea. Well, I might have, there had been a map, but with emphasis on _had been._

Ultimately, over however long this place had languished, mold, mice, and silverfish had all gotten to it at one point or another. The thing was toast. But in spite of that, it may as well have been a goldmine of information to me; even if all that remained was a bottom bit of the island, a scale bar, and an incomplete legend with just four locations.

The bottom bit of the island indicated how far the roads extended, the scale bar could give me an idea of just how big this place was, and the legend… the four places referenced in the legend could tell me where things I needed might be.

The Visitors Center: Presuming this place was supposed to be some sort of administration building there may be more information about the park to be found there. Like a complete map or details on what else is on the island that might want to eat me.

Airfield Control: An 'Airfield Control' meant there was likely an airfield. No doubt the place was in just as bad a state of disrepair as the rest of the island, but if there was an airplane — or hell, even parts — then there _may_ be a bit of magnesium I could use to start fires.

Water Treatment: Again, the place was no doubt trashed, but depending on what method was being used there might be some salvageable filtration parts or chemicals. Hell, just a jug of iodine would be worth hunting the place down. With that, I wouldn't need to worry about getting sick from drinking stream water while out.

Workers Complex: The island wasn't huge, the scale on the map had helped confirm that, but it wasn't exactly small either. This place would've had to have had a lot of workers to build and maintain the place. If I could find the complex, then that might help my food situation. Or at the very, least help with crossing off some other things on my list.

Each location had something I might want, but aside from the Visitors Center, I hadn't the faintest clue where any of them were. And even with the Visitors Center, it was most likely on the other side of the island.

However, thanks to the sign back at the original shelter, I was also fairly certain I could find it just by following the railed-road. It would be a long walk with who the hell knows what between me and it... but it gave me a place to start.

I had options.

Spinning back around I paused to glance at the opened double doors that led outside and eyed the steadily growing puddle of water coming in. It's raining, may as well test how this place handles it. Finishing the spin I propped my feet up on the desk and leaned back when a double clap of thunder shook the air and a flash of lightning blazed through the plants blocking the view through the barred window the desk sat behind.

For the time being though, any plan or to list I made was largely academic with the weather as it was. If it meant going outside, all that could wait until the storm finally passed through for good… or at least let up long enough for me to go outside and restock on food.

"But in the meantime..." Raising my missing hand in front of my face, I drew forth a fraction of Jungle and Green light, like thickened wisps of smoke, flickered into existence and flowed around the missing digits.

"I can keep trying to figure out what the hell this is supposed to be."

—


	6. Chapter 6

C'est La Vie (Worm / MtG) #2.2

—

Pushing the smokey Green light into the golden scarab, I tried to guide, and control, its rate of absorption as best I could while the beetle began swelling in size. One and a half times, two times, three times— With a surprisingly loud " _Crack_ " the head carapace suddenly split and green light shone through.

Seeing the now familiar inner glow, I immediately cut off the flow. But it was too late. A moment later test subject #27 exploded, scattering globs of gooey off colored insides and bits of carapace across the desk to rest in pieces among its predecessors.

"Fuck."

-I-

Pieces of gooey insect guts splattered on my glasses... hurray for eye protection, I guess.

Pushing the frames up I rubbed at my strained eyes. "Damnit."

I rocked back in my chair and stared at the desktop, barely illuminated by what little late afternoon light came in through the doors and littered with uncountable bits of broken carapace and arthropod squishy bits. Why wasn't it working as it— catching a whiff of something sour and metallic, I sniffed. Oh, yeah, it was starting to smell.

With a thought, fliers and crawlers descended on the table to clean up the mess of my experiments with the Green… Energy? Smokey stuff? Whatever it was... I suppose The Green, or just Green, worked well enough, though.

And I'd been taking it slow that time too. But again, splat.

Too much in one area, and it explodes. Too little in one area, and it explodes. Too much altogether too quickly, and it explodes. I was careful, but no matter what I did, there was always a weak point. The growth had to be _symmetrical_ for it to not fail, that was clear enough by this point.

Perhaps if I primed the scarab and somehow made it stronger beforehand… or preceded the growth with a much smaller amount of Green to reinforce any weak spots…

I cleaned off my glasses and putting them back on glowered at the chitin covering my desk.

The idea had been so simple, see what happens when I put X amount of Green into Y Bug. Seeing a centipede grow like Bastard being empowered and remembering how easy Atlas had made things… I sighed.

"Rachel could probably help me figure this out if she were here..." I grimaced. Hopefully, she was doing well and had someone keeping her connected. It was one of those memories that were blurry, but I thought she'd been there after we won.

Thinking of Rachel I recalled her explanation of how she empowered her dogs, all at once or over time… all at once.

Narrowing my eyes, I held that thought and concentrating on the Jungle, the sounds and the smells, I drew out another wisp of Green from the Impression. I fiddled with it for a few moments, moving it this way and that around the hand with gestures of my missing fingers, double checking what I already knew, before closing them into a fist.

Before my eyes, the thickened smoke of the light condensed and concentrated into a bright marble of emerald light.

"Maybe an all at once method to completely saturate it would work better."

-I-

Beetle bits splattered against my hand and my teeth ground together, splintering a twig I'd picked up while out getting some fresh air.

Pressure pulsed in my temple and spitting out the twig and splinters I kneaded my thumb into my temple to try and alleviate the headache that had come out of nowhere not long ago.

No, that was wrong. I knew where it had come from, and the frustration from the continued failures that had spawned the thing wasn't helping one bit.

 _Why. Wasn't. This. Fucking. Working._

Directing _yet another_ golden scarab onto the slaughtering grounds, I took a moment to take stock of just how many I had lef— I blinked at the near infinitesimal number left in my swarm, momentarily forgetting the throbbing in my head.

Oh. Wow. Well… crap, at this point I'd lost count of how many beetles I'd exploded, but the way I was going I'd deplete the local population before long.

Tilting my head back I, idly stared up at the veritable factory the Orb Weavers had set up among the drop ceiling frame and supports suspended from the barrel ceiling. Breeding, food storage, and silk production with various things in the process of being woven. All contained overhead on lines of golden thread.

And I'd need to release them into the surrounding whenever I left so I couldn't afford to wipe out the large beetles. They were just too large a food source for the spiders.

"Just one more then."

Exhaling, I reached in to draw out a fragment of the Jungle… But nothing, no wisp of smoky green light appeared, not even a— A fresh spike of oh so lovely agony throbbed in my brain and I rocked back again, my eyes squeezed shut against the flash of bright color.

Ok ok ok. Right. No more Green stuff and don't push it. Got it.

"Well — Ech," I rubbed at my temple even harder. "At least now I know it can run out. That's one question answered."

-I-

Sitting in my creaky chair at the desk, with the early dawn light coming in through the hazy glass window now clear of plants, I let out a long, slow breath.

Ok.

Gently pushing aside a rim-down, cracked coffee mug uncovered from the semi-reclaimed lavatory, I guided a mottled brown and black Tailless Whip Scorpion off my shoulder, down my arm, and onto the desk.

Scuttling sideways it settled down in front of me as the test beetles had. This time wasn't going to be a test, though. This time it would work… maybe… hopefully.

No. No maybe's, it _would_ work this time.

I slowly drew in a long breath, and letting it out I slowly siphoned off a fraction of energy from the Jungle. I breathed in as a long streamer of smokey Green light writhed about my missing fingers and with a gesture injected an infinitesimal amount, barely the faintest wisp, into the arachnid.

To my eyes, there was no visible effect, but through it's connection to the swarm I could feel it being absorbed into the carapace and soft tissues and fortifying the tailless whiptail.

Waiting only a moment to make sure the first bit of energy had taken effect, I gestured again, almost something not dissimilar to a 'princess wave', and a layer of the Green shrouded the spindly legs and main body before being absorbed. But I didn't let it disappear entirely.

Wafting my missing hand back and forth over the Tailless, I repeatedly applied the shroud as it continued to be absorbed and the arachnid's two inch long main body rapidly grew in size. Sometimes I needed to add a little here to help its book lungs grow to accommodate its new size, or a little less there to keep its segmented abdomen from becoming a _hair_ too thick until it was... done.

"Balance," I muttered, "it's all in the balance." All at once, with a little extra attention where necessary to keep the growth stable, though, the concentration needed to micromanage it all was almost extreme. I'd have to practice for it to be effective in combat.

Now with its main body nearly the size of my hand and its once-spindly legs were much thicker and almost a foot in length. It's muscle density and organs had grown accordingly, but nevertheless, I had it rise up to test its movement and dexterity. It scuttled back and forth, stood as tall as it could and ducked and leaned to avoid an imagined blow, then dropping back down into a low stance, it snapped out its long barbed pedipalps like a boxer and grabbed with its pincers.

Physically, there was no comparison. It may as well have been a different organism than when what it started out as.

But the physical changes weren't the only differences, the enlarged arachnid… _glowed_ , in a sense. Not visibly, but its presence in the swarm was like a dim light in the night. And while the senses were the same distorted mess as always, the input was… sharper, the resolution finer than before with shapes becoming _slightly_ more distinct. And didn't that deserve later investigation?

Sliding the mug over, I lifted it to release a small, brown furred field mouse I'd captured the night before. It took off in an instant, bounding across the desktop. But the tailless whiptail scuttled after hot on its heel. The mouse gained ground, but the pedipalps unfolded and lashed out lightning quick.

The tailless whiptails barbs caught, punching through the brown fur and deep into the organs beneath with strength and sharpness leagues in excess its original capabilities. But that had been when it'd been sized for crickets and other small insects, now that it was sized proportionally to a mouse… actually, it was stil beyond overkill.

The mouse just barely managed a weak squeak before being pulled close so the arachnid could sink its fangs into its skull.

My lips spread in a toothy — and likely somewhat manic — grin as the arachnid began to dig in.

Finally. After three long _frustrating_ days of experimentation and who knows how many beetles sacrificed, I was _finally_ making progress.

It was still far less than what I'd aimed for, but simultaneously far _more_ than I could have ever hoped for.

It would take time, and practice, but I would have my Atlas 2.0 and then… then I can really get things done. Although, it would probably be worthwhile to continue exploring what could be done with the tailless. Get it a bit bigger, maybe the size of a dog, and then it would _really_ be something.

Rolling back from the desk, I stood and let the tailless keep eating while began gathering my things. Things to do, places to track down, food to find before I start having to eat my swarm. Much to do much to do.

—

A/N: Decided to end it here rather than add on a few hundred unnecessary words already summed up in the last sentence.


	7. Chapter 7

**C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #02.3**

—

Getting down the mountain ended up being a lesson in forward planning.

Locking up and dispersing the less mobile of my swarm went off without a hitch. But getting down the mountain…

Well, if cutting through the steep sections of jungle going _up_ had been nothing more than tedious, then the storm made coming _down_ a downright nightmare.

Huffing and puffing, with a line of sweat running down my temple from the climb through the humid jungle I neared the bottom of the mountain. The gap of in the tall fencing was just in sight through the trees and bush and— my left foot dropped, what was once solid ground collapsed beneath me and I went stumbling and sliding down the slope. Once, _twice_ , I almost caught myself, but forward momentum fucked that right up. Only when the incline tapered off did I catch myself… by slamming into a tree.

My teeth locked up and I sucked air through in a hiss as my left side _screamed._ I dug my nails into the thick trunk, multi-colored bark coming apart under my fingers as I fought down the deep ache in my ribs.

 _In the same damn spot._

Slowly pushing off I massaged my side and limped out to the road, out into the sunlight and… glancing down at my side, I inadvertently looked at the poncho I'd made and cringed at the affect the sunlight had on it.

Like everything else the Orb Weavers spun, it _gleamed_ gold in the sunlight. I'd had little choice but to deal with it while using the satchel while foraging and had managed to dulled its shine with a little dirt, but the poncho… it was brand new and obnoxiously bright. Too much surface area.

Well, it certainly helped hammer home the point that I needed to figure out a way of dyeing the silk to make it less… _everything_.

Glenn probably would have loved it, though, and with horrifying quickness, a vision of him in one of his lurid Hawaiian shirts dubbing the ensemble ' _fabulously crude_ ' came to mind... Too quickly, frankly. It actually made me a little nauseous.

Had he seen me now, surviving with little but my powers and whatever I could find, he would've probably have seen a PR opportunity. Hell, he'd probably have coerced me to use the getup, somehow, in spite of the color and reflectiveness being so eye catching it all but painted a bullseye on my back.

I shivered. It wouldn't have been for long, probably, he'd never actually want me _dead,_ but that wouldn't stop him.

Possibly the only saving grace was my suit I was still using as a base. My wonderful, not shiny and horribly mismatched black, yellow and grey costume.

At least with that, I could toss the poncho and blend into the bush if necessary. However, despite those _glaring_ downsides and not being able to work in as much extra functionality into it that I'd've liked, I'd rather have it than not. If anything, being able to roll it up and having something softer than concrete to rest my head on while away would be nice.

Besides, what was out here that the color mattered? Dinosaurs? If that giant chicken came back for round two, things wouldn't be going the way they did the first time. I was certain of that.

Shaking my head, I grabbed the bottom left edge just over my knee and threw the loose fabric over my shoulder, giving my free arm free range of movement again and started down the road in the same direction I had a week before.

Not that I wanted it to come around. Fuck that… seeing a stripped tree that had at some point fallen onto the concrete fence base I limped over and knocked twice.

-I-

Reaching a fork in the road a short while later and seeing the earth stomped flat leading in a path leading from the new road, it became quite evident that I wasn't the only one who would be using this road in the future.

I looked behind me though and confirmed that, nope, there wasn't a trace of the same path... That wasn't just a little foreboding.

Sure, between the T-Rex stomping about and the storm I couldn't actually say whether anything had used the stretch of road I'd taken to get here. And of course, it could just be that nothing had traveled that way yet… right, I wouldn't've believed that either.

Well, at any rate, _this_ stretch _was_ actively traveled. And well traveled at that. Only a day since the storm had petered off, but already there was a trail along the road of earth that had been stomped flat by _big_ feet. Big feet supporting a lot of weight.

No giant chicken prints, fortunately, but awfully large prints nonetheless. Almost like elephant feet. But… bigger. Round things, some with four and five toes, some with three and three and a number of shapes and sizes between.

I looked back the way I'd come again.

Nothing? Really?

I looked back down the new road and recalled what the jungle had looked like from the mountaintop and… there had definitely been a road that led to the coast. It might not be this one specifically, but nice to know there was a route so close that wouldn't necessitate going through the jungle.

Slipping my hand into the satchel to pull out a tasteless, gritty berry and fruitlessly tried flavoring it with something much meatier and tasty, and buttery… I licked my lips. Lobster, yum.

I had no butter, but dammit, I'd make something work. I'd grill the damn things if necessary.

I shook my head. That would just need to wait though, for now, I needed more supplies and equipment before I could even dream of having a lobster dinner. So for now, my destination would be the Visitors Center place.

Although… I snorted and started walking again. For all I knew, the place could very well be on the other side of the island, so either way, I may end up going to the beach anyway.

The beach, that'd be nice… shrouding my eyes, I looked up at the sky. The clear, cloudless sky… without sunscreen though I'd probably turn a nice cherry red in no time at all.

Like a lobster.

Narrowing my eyes at the enemy of pale people everywhere, I deftly shifted a fold of the poncho to hang over my head like a hood. Probably best to delay a day at the beach.

-I-

Approaching a concrete and metal bridge crossing a short chasm, I grimaced as my socks, my _freshly made_ socks at that, inched a little further down my ankles. This was the fourth time since I'd set out and I had to fight the urge to stop and pull them up. Again.

Perfectly fit they may be, they just refused to stay up. But of course, no elastic made things a little difficult. Straps and ties and drawstrings could work with other things, but socks… Drawstrings still had nothing to keep them up. The straps would need to attach to something, and unless I went with a full stocking and garter that would be way too complex and resource expensive to prototype. Also, no custom mannequins to make things easy, so that would be time wasted I could spend doing something else.

Drawing my lip between my teeth I crossed the bridge, taking a moment to look down at the rushing river a few yards below. Idly, my fingers played with the flap of my satchel as I looked down the river cutting through the jungle, then up.

I blinked and paused to slowly rub the thin cloth between my fingers, feeling the texture, and looked down at the flap. Or rather, the separate piece of fabric it had started as.

That might work.

Starting down the road again, I ran the numbers in my head. The socks I was wearing had taken a while, relatively speaking, but what about a wrap? Sheets of silk were far easier than three-dimensional shapes and thus more cost efficient in terms of time and energy and silk production. And they could be multi-purpose.

I spaced out and let my feet carry me forward.

Maybe a two by three section? I hummed and bit my lip a little _too_ hard, and realizing what I was doing snagged another berry. Another tasteless, gritty, berry… dammit, I wanted something other than these damn berries.

But no, if it would be multipurpose then something square would work better even if it was a bit more material. Two by two would probably be too small but three by three would be a bit much… although it _would_ be easier to work with more than with less.

Reaching into the satchel, I fingered a roughly three by three bandanna the weavers had spun before I cracked open the hall in the shelter. It wasn't an air filtration mask, but it was better than nothing and it should work well enough to test out a foot wrap.

My attention on crafting was it was, though, I almost failed to notice the trio of seven-foot tall dinosaurs skulking through the bush on the right side of the road... Almost.

One was closing in from in front and to the right, behind to the right, and the last almost directly to the right

A pincer with the one in the center to finish me off. Definitely not something a friendly lumbering herbivore would do. No siree.

I glanced left and right, eyeing the six-foot fencing on either side with slack, rusted cables that gave little comfort. And looking up the road I could see two wide breaks in the fence where the poles were flat out gone. Trampled down most likely.

The thing had become as holed as swiss cheese. So it was useless, and then even if it wasn't who's to say they couldn't just jump the thing.

I kept an eye on them as I walked, tracked them, felt them ghost through the jungle and disturb the vegetation like a boat giving off a wake.

Slow, or rather matching my pace, and careful as they moved through the jungle, leaving little impression on the foliage around them.

TThey were careful, I'd give them that. And patient enough that I could watch them, Emma, Madison, and Sophia— no that was a bit demeaning, they were just animals and not even animals deserved that… The pep boys then: Manny, Moe and… Mack? Yeah, Mack.

I observed them, and with each passing minute, as the sun continued to move east and a thin, foggy haze spread through the afternoon sky, they got _slightly_ closer. Taking it slow, not rushed. Hell, out in the open as I was, they probably didn't even perceive me as a challenge. And with their size, between the three of them, I wouldn't even constitute a meal, nothing more than a _snack_.

My swarm awoke and the jungle came alive with the sounds of the buzz and hum of millions of wings as the sky turned black.

A snack. That thought nagged at me for some reason. It was… insulting, almost. I'd alleviate them of that notion.

Pincers bit, stingers stung and fangs pierced soft skin around the neck and lower legs. Nothing lethal, no venom, but it was enough that they succumbed and fled, shrill, honking cry echoing out of the jungle from one from one followed by calls from the other two. Almost as one, they fled out of my range with the swarm on their heels.

I watched the area they'd left before something clicked. They'd communicated. Walking on autopilot I replayed the last minute in my head.

The first had called out and… yes, the other had been in retreat as well, but at the call, the other two changed direction… and it had been the three of them working together, I was certain of it, like… a pack. So something like the dino' equivalent of wolves then? Interesting. Well, interesting in that they might be telling each other they were retreating. A dinosaur-whatever-poligy person would probably be dancing in glee.

They never _quite_ left, though. As I walked they ghosting in and out of range, lingering at the edge of my awareness until I rebuffed them. Interesting, in a different sense, but they didn't quite push it.

Watching how they acted, I almost wanted to say they were testing how the swarm reacted when they got too close. But that level of pattern recognition… Communication was one thing, but that was a bit much.

Nearing a junction in the road the sock on my right foot slipped down under my heel, but I ignored it. Instead, I stopped at the fork to look down both roads, standing on the rail where it crossed with another. Left and right, staying on the road I was on would lead wherever, but the left was a road that connected with another road going left, into the valley and where the crude sign had shown the visitors center was. Well, left it was.

Although... I looked back and to the right, where another road continued somewhat back the way I'd come before turning away and starting down the left fork. I'd felt it while walking. I'd have to keep that one in mind when I decided to go to the bottom end of the island.

Reaching the end, the sock had rolled down to rest beneath my arch like a soft rock, but I continued to ignore it. I glanced back as I turned onto the road heading into the valley to see the right-hand road further down. It wouldn't have mattered.

Barely a minute later, with a tall, concrete arch-gate-thing with the tall fencing running out from either side coming up, the sock had finally crept all the way down to my toes and gotten stuffed into the toe of my boot. I stopped ignoring it. I _couldn't_ ignore it.

Sighing, I glanced at the gate, then glared down at the boot. A good enough place as any I suppose.

Kneeling down, I tugged the laces out and loosened the tongue pull my foot out. Then and there, I decided I needed to add sandals to my to-do list. Just the one hand wasn't— I snapped my head up and to the right as the three dinosaurs re-entered my range and began advancing through the jungle again.

I shook my head and idly sent the swarm at them as they slowly crept in a little further, turning back to pulling my sock up and _— Fuck!_

Like a trio of freight trains, the trio picked up speed and smashed through the swarm I'd sent at them and tore through the jungle in close formation, making a clear B-line towards a single and unsettling destination: Me.

Once more my swarm arose and descended on them. I wasn't aiming to kill them, they were just animals that ultimately little threat, but I was by no means _gentle._ Rachel's dogs learned not to fuck with me, and if these things could communicate, then they could as well.

Fuck if it didn't take a lot to teach them, through, to the point I actually moved the bugs in my flight pack into position as they got closer and closer while prepping more lethal measures.

Ultimately, I just about lost count of how many bites or stings I inflicted on the trio before being brought down not a hundred feet from the treeline with their legs tangled up in silk.

Pulling the laces tight and retying them, I stood and kept walking while they bit at their bindings and upon freeing themselves retreated once more with the swarm on their heels. Reaching the gate I briefly considered threading silk between the King Kong doors but dismissed it. The fencing was fucked everywhere else, why would it be different here. Probably just be an issue when I came back anyway.

Fortunately, they didn't press things again and passing a pair of overgrown service roads to the left I felt it, a building at the edge of my range... a big building… a _really_ big building.

With each step more and more of it came into range and… and it was practically coming apart at the seam, both from the damage done from the ravages of time and what _appeared_ to be intentional attempts at demolition. It had become a veritable hive, and my sense of the building within my range was near omnipotent.

But its bones were still strong, the walls still stood despite the jungles efforts to reclaim it and everything within… and oh, _oh_ , how much was within and... was that a full-size restaurant kitchen?

My lips spread into a grin and I came to a stop at the base of a wide set of damp, moss covered steps leading up to a pair of sunburst stylized doors with handles shaped into an egg and embellished with a border in the shape of fossils.

Briefly noting the T-Rex skeleton holding primacy above the door, I pulled out my bandanna and moving the tailless whiptail out of my hair where it had been acting as a hairclip, I handed back the ends of the cloth to let it loop the fabric into a knot. Pressing down one end with my middle finger, I pulled the other end tight and strode up the steps.

Lobster, here I come.

—


	8. Chapter 8

**C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #02.4**

AN: Quietly sets down appetizer and backs away .

—

Putting my shoulder into the door, I ground my feet into the slick, leaf covered top step and slowly forced it open. It'd been unlocked, but actually _opening_ the door was proving to be a bit more of a challenge. Slow and steady and all that, though.

I was making progress, inch by inch. Slow progress, but there wasn't much of a hurry and I only needed to open it enough to slip through. In the meantime, my swarm was pouring through the halls, closets, and rooms of the building to give me an idea of where to start and— oh the kitchen, _the kitchen!_

With each passing second, a bit more was added to my mental picture and this was looking to be a good haul, no matter how things turned out.

However, with greater knowledge of the building came awareness of the dangers. As I'd noticed on my initial approach the place was coming apart, it wasn't in _quite_ as bad of shape as I'd initially thought, though.

Its bones still stood strong and due to it's largely concrete and steel construction, it would no doubt survive well into the future. At least in one form or another, whether as a building or… well, a shell as where less robust materials had been used— such as in the wooden studs used to put up dividing walls and load bearing beams that were _riddled_ with termites— decayed into nothing as the building rotted from within.

Fortunately the damage didn't seem like it would be _too_ great an issue, yet, but even so I'd need to watch where I stepped in certain parts of the building, in particular in the upper levels and— Pushing forward another inch my footing suddenly gave way and my forward foot shot back on a now slippery step.

I scrambled and grabbed, as my stomach flopped, fortunately managing to catch myself on the door handle before I could smash face first into the unforgiving concrete. However, in catching myself, I also pulled the door shut as I fell… I closed my eyes and sighed.

Dammit.

-I-

Satchel held tight to my hip, and stomach sucked in deep, I sidled through the gap I'd opened between the doors. Leaves, wet and dry, crunched and squelched underfoot as I slid into the lobby, the damp smell of the jungle and distinct scent of composting plant matter strong in the air despite my mask. Absently, I let the bag hang free to reach out and shut the door behind me, casting a shadow in the wedge of light coming through the gap.

Idly, I followed the dust particles floating in the air and briefly weighed the benefits of leaving the door open. Perhaps to help air out the place or something? However, that would also mean leaving a way into the building when it was already holed like swiss cheese, and did I really want to leave open another path of attack?

The wedge narrowed, then disappeared, as the door shut tight with a faint _click_ and the latch settled with a gentleness that belied the effort it had taken to loosen it a second time. I leaned back against the other door to catch my breath as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and took in the lobby with my own senses; absorbing the sight of a gently curving staircase leading up to the second-floor mezzanine overgrown and plant growth young and old that had taken root in the building.

A chittering bird flying in from somewhere deeper within the building drew my eyes; up, to a domed ceiling with a double ring of skylights. Tinted green with algae and so fogged with calcium they were missing any of the clear transparency they might have once had. But they still let in light, not much, but enough; enough light for things to grow, for things to live, and enough to give the place an atmosphere— an air of grandeur and impression of what had been.

Or might have been, rather, as my eyes tracked the bird to a scaffolding that near reached the ceiling.

Eventually, my interest drifted back to the ground floor as my eyes fully acclimated and fixing on a collapsed skeleton at the center of the room. A T-Rex skull, the centerpiece and only thing actually visible among the ferns that grown up around it. It wasn't _real_ , though, not really. Millipedes, centipedes and more had nested within the leaves littering the floor, and through them, I could feel several large vertebrae broken open to reveal foamy interiors.

Castings, fakes. A display piece.

I looked up to the skylights again, then back to the bones and imagined the bones assembled upright as the dinosaur displays once featured so prominently at the Museum of Natural History in New York had. They'd been destroyed, of course. Some no name villain or another that had animated the skeletons undoubtedly thinking they would 'make a splash'. Pictures of the exhibits had been preserved online and I could remember those well enough.

Nevertheless, fake or no, this place… It was no doubt quite the sight to see even while it was being built as with the way the skylights were arranged, there would've been sunlight shining down on the display all day long.

I glanced to the right of the room, where tattered bits of plastic sheeting was all that separated the inside from the outside.

Almost finished, but not quite... What could have been but never would be.

I tried not to think too deeply about how well that sentiment could be applied to myself as I slipped off my satchel, crossed to the stairs, and heedless of the leaves littering the steps or any possible weakness I fell onto them. Dropping the satchel between my feet and pulling out the thermos to take a drink as I immersed myself in the senses of my swarm

I refined my mental image of this place, seeing and feeling what it had to offer and what there was to work with through thousands— _millions_ —of eyes and feelers to… I cocked my head and looked down, through the floor to the ceiling of a large, cavernous room below where a large number of fleas were gathered— _Fleas,_ of all things, and near the ceiling?

One carrier shuffled and it set off a wave of motion from several other carriers immediately around it. Almost like… swaying. Bats. And a lot of them.

I idly began moving a portion of the more useless part of my swarm down to them in the event they ate insects while in the process getting a better picture of the room and quickly realizing it was rather large, the width of the building in fact. Through a number of worms and a fraction of my swarm's fliers I felt a number of large objects that had been partially buried, but the shape… _ah_ , cars. A garage then. Not the only one, though I absently noted; another, to the back of the building, with a pair of jeeps.

Although these were larger, with glass roofs… one appeared in my minds-eye as the swarm gathered over its surface and resolved into the familiar shape of a four-door SUV. But there were two entrances to the garage?

As details were added I noticed the rail— the same one I'd been following that ran the center of the road —descend into the garage and split into three different rails that ran beneath the parked SUV's… almost like a ride at an amusement park. A guided tour?

"Huh."

Aside from the bats and a fair amount of stuff down there though there was seemingly little else of interest. It had shelves full of stuff maybe, but nothing that the garage in the back didn't have and I could leave the bats well enough alone by checking there first. What was of note, however, was another subterranean structure; this one toward the back of the building and positioned beneath a room with very little insect activity so I couldn't get much of a picture save for significant amounts of plastic, glass, and steel.

In contrast to the garage, there seemed like there might be something of value in there as directing some of the swarm down there I found crates, and cabinets with narrow drawers, and metal lockers. There was an issue with entrances, however; one was inside, near a room filled with the remains of what felt like an office space with old CRT monitors, keyboards, and mice littered about workstations. It was also the epicenter of several explosions that had collapsed part of the building which blocked off the door.

Outside the entrance, it seemed to be much less of an issue. The only obstacle being some built up vegetation from jungle encroachment. Unless of course it was locked, which I wouldn't know until checking and really I was probably only getting lucky at this point.

So that wasn't accessible at the moment if I had felt so inclined to try and get into it. Which I didn't, at least not now, and not with when the low hanging fruit in the increasingly clean looking restaurant kitchen would do quite nicely for now.

Turning towards the entrance of the said room, I rocked back as I caught sight of a yellowed yet incredibly lifelike mural painted along the back was boldly featuring the same dinosaur as Manny, Moe, and Mack as they stalked through a jungle.

-I-

Polishing my sleeve against dusty glass set into the walk-in freezers door, I peered through into what could vaguely be described as the biome of some alien world. Milky water dripped from the ceiling— which in itself was hidden behind a layer of green and white fuzz —and from what looked like wire shelves that had somehow toppled over. The entire thing was overgrown, like some twisted version of the visitors center and the jungle as layer upon layer of different molds grew out of each other and squiggles and clumps of something bloomed— I had to fight down a retch at the state of the small, confined space overflowing with death.

This… _thing,_ this _abomination_ that had been born here, was a biohazard to the 'Nth degree. The only thing to do with it was for it to burn and die. Even if there was something of value inside that I couldn't get elsewhere, I wouldn't consider cracking the door's seal without a pyrokinetic and several thousands of bleach on hand… at a minimum, and not even then.

The thought of burning all that was in there with fire certainly helped my stomach, though.

Making an about-face, I absently grabbed my shopping basket (really a black milk crate) off a wire shelving unit sagging under the weight of several other milk crates full of neatly stacked ceramic dishes and stepped over to a wash station opposite the shelf. Scanning the workspace I clicked my tongue in disappointment and clunked the crate on the lip of the deep sink.

Not much, nothing really, but nevertheless I grabbed can of 'barkeepers, a lightly used green scouring pad, and a wire scrubber; rusty, nothing that wouldn't come off quickly enough with a bit of use, though.

Other than that though… I gave the opaque plastic tubs stacked tacked on a rack above the sink a passing glance before glancing below for anything I might have missed, but nothing.

With little else to find I moved on, the basket under my arm, I made a fresh circuit around the kitchen with an out eye for anything I _didn't_ have. There wasn't much I was missing, however, there were a few things— I stooped to grab a wood handled grater thing; a 'zester', I think it was called —that could come in handy.

Looking it over I touched the grated side to confirm it was still sharp (enough to go through green wood with any luck) and dropped it in.

There wasn't much else though, or nothing significant at least. Making my way through the five rows of prep aisles I _did_ find a few stainless ingredient containers in better condition than what I'd gathered already, but really, that was all there was left for me to do here: find the thing in the best condition and even on that front it was looking like I could afford to be a picky.

It was almost funny though. Out of everything on this island to damage this place, from the big dinosaurs to the little dinosaurs, it was the _humidity_ of all things that had done the most destruction when the eating area was almost completely exposed to the jungle. But no, without people to maintain the appliances the very moisture in the air had turned 'stainless steel' into little more than a misnomer with the amount of decay that had set into the metal. Overall the damage was little more than dustings of splotchy brown rust and minor corrosion across dulled metal surfaces, but it was still nothing compared to what it could have been. Or even what happened to the rest of the building. Really it seemed like the worst of it was seemed like cosmetic wear and tear aside from one wall where there was the telltale discoloration that a pipe had burst.

At a glance, it almost seemed as if everything was ready to go as is. Probably was, actually. Excepting where the jungle had encroached through the air vents and grown along the high up windows, though that was only a small portion of the kitchen.

There was also just the faintest tracings of moss growing in along the grout, but aside from that… dust, lots and lots of dust. Oh, and the crumbling remains of an old drop ceiling of course. Why, _why_ , there would be a drop ceiling installed in a kitchen of all things I couldn't fathom, yet there was, and just about half of the tiles had fallen to the floor over the years.

Just the effect that steam from the stovetops, _or if a fire started_ … It boggled the mind.

Ultimately, it might have become something more, in time, maybe even as bad as with the radio building. But what growth there _had been_ , was insignificant enough that my massed swarm had rendered it a non-issue while I'd poked around the dining area for the most intact tablecloths and candles.

There was simply nowhere for anything to take root and grow into a problem.

Gradually filling the basket with various cooking nicknacks and miscellanea from the shelves and cabinets and drawers I slowly but surely made my way back to the center counter where I'd been piling everything. Already it was far more than I could carry, and the extra crate of stuff _really_ didn't help, however having it all in one place would help with any future trips and let me have it all in front of me when picking what to take.

Pots, pans, bowls and plates, pitchers, cups and cutlery were just part of the stuff I'd gathered. I had at least one of something with the only thing missing being the sink... and I'd noticed that the wash station had caster wheels so jokes aside that wasn't _entirely_ out of the question. It was everything needed for a small apartment and more, with the 'and more' part being especially important. I couldn't come close to replicating the setup Coil had had installed for me in form, not even if I had the whole of a hardware store to draw from, but I could at least approximate something similar in function with a little effort.

Of course, the radio building wasn't an _apartment_ , per se… of course neither was the Undersiders Lair and it was even worse... Whatever, what it _was_ was a place to live and not a bad one at that. Regardless, apartment, hideout, shelter, base, lair… framing the problem in those terms helped give me a good an idea of what I needed and could use to make things work.

If only the perishables were so easy though.

Reaching into my back compartment and digging out my notebook I got to work sifting through it all and putting together a pile of the bare necessities.

I paused and snorted. "The simple bare necessities," I mused, wistfully thinking back to a night on the couch under a blanket in a home. Then the moment was gone as I scratched out several things that had survived the years. "If only it were that easy."

A little bitter perhaps, in light of the song's message, if only _life_ were so easy though.

Although… glancing up from the notebook I eyed a fine, black lacquered wood box embossed with the T-Rex logo that had been on the jeep, but done up in a crisp gold leaf that almost glowed in the last bit of late day sun illuminating the kitchen. _Tea_. Over a hundred types packed neatly away in sealed foil packets.

They were likely, yet provided that the humidity or temperature hadn't gotten to them, they _should_ taste just fine with only a minor loss in flavor.

At least there were some simple luxuries.

Looking back to the notebook I flipped back a few pages to cross out several items before glaring at the entry concerning fire and crossed out one of the options. Shelf life for matches my flat ass.

—


	9. Chapter 9

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #02.5

A/N: Carries out the first course on an overloaded tray. Is of lookings forwards to thoughts on dishes prepared.

—

Pressing my forehead against a cool metal railing that ran the perimeter of the visitor centers roof, my feet dangled over the side of the building as I watched as the last of the sun's glow receded below the horizon of the treetops and the sky grow dark.

It was about that time then.

Heaving myself up, I brushed bits of moss and leaves off the back of my poncho before twisting sharply to crack my back. Turning on my heel I shuffled back to the roof access hatch where I'd set up my cot and fell onto a gurney pad I'd pulled from what had been a kitted out medical room beside the jeep garage. Much of the stuff had gone bad, but the pad— some reddish vinyl material around foam —crinkled only a little as I sat down and grabbed for my satchel to dig out the thermos.

I frowned at the weight and shook the dented metal bottle, listening to the water slosh around before it settled.

There was a good third left, maybe. It was enough if I _really_ stretched it, but not nearly enough and I didn't really trust the solar disinfection kit I'd cobbled together with a bottle of stale white wine and some silk to filter the water through. Although, that probably had more to do with the pond in front of the visitors center was there, although… well, having to clean off the filter more than once wasn't a good sign of the quality.

At best, the water was stagnant and would need a _lot_ more than a little UV exposure to make it safe to drink.

So not much water left, and the less said about the food situation the better. Canned peaches of questionable quality or no.

With an almost conscious effort I set the bottle aside, far enough that it was just out of reach I'd have to consciously grab it.

Overall, I was wholly unprepared. I should have planned to be here longer than a day just to be safe and my lack of forethought was coming back to bite me… I snorted. Then again, what _else_ was new.

Though how could I have known what had been little more than a glorified food run would turn into a multi-day outing? Well, ok, I probably should have packed more just in case, and been a bit more careful with my consumption, or just returned to pack better, but _still_.

I hadn't been expecting to find much, and if anything whatever I did find would be something along the same lines as the radio bunker— a building reduced to a shell, rotted away and being reclaimed by the jungle. And I did find that, in a way, but the kitchen… well, _that_ , then finding a hand truck while looking through the rear garage and deciding (without thinking) that it would be a good idea to load the thing up with as much crap as I could and leave the next day. If that had been it, then that would have been fine, no problem.

Then I pushed going back _another_ day.

I was being overly careless. For as much as there were things on this island that could kill a normal person, with my swarm those things were rendered a non-issue. Even the giant chicken wouldn't've been a problem had I had a proper swarm. Running out of things like food, or water, though?

No… no that was on me and I had no one to blame but myself.

Still, my over-enthusiastic plundering of the visitors center aside, and ignoring the headache I was going to get trying to haul it all up the mountain, there was something off about this place that would have prompted me to stay regardless of my food or water situation.

Grabbing and dropping the satchel into my lap I rummaged about inside for some berries. Tasteless as they were, they would still tide me over… at least until I fully ran out, then I'd have to go out looking for more or get creative. In the garage beneath the building, I noticed the fleas beginning to move about as their carriers woke up for the night's hunt. With an absent thought, a portion of my swarm took to the air; the dregs and less useful of my fliers.

I may not be eating well, but the bats certainly would.

But yes, even if I hadn't found the hand truck I would've stayed had I noticed there was something up about this place. Or more specifically, there was something about the Green and the Impression. It wasn't anything overt, at least on its own, just… different. Insignificant really, and just slight enough that the difference hadn't been apparent. At least until I was wrapping up my practice the night after I got here and realized I'd just about enlarged the whiptail to the size of a tea plate I'd been putting my berries on at the time.

The fact I'd turned it into something so large without bursting too many beetles _probably_ should've been an indicator that something was up while I was practicing.

The problem was that even while playing around with the green there hadn't been anything that stood out enough to make me stop and think. It had been easier to make my test subjects grow larger, yes, however, I'd written it off as simply getting better at not making bugs explode… but when the beginnings of a headache set in as I'd been finishing up the Whiptail and in that moment the Green had in those last moments had felt… _thinner,_ to put a word to it. The Green felt less raw in a sense and combined with my success with the whiptail it had stuck in my brain like a pebble in a shoe throughout the night. Nagging at me.

I'd just need to stay the day instead of leaving, however, this was something new and I had nowhere to be so why not? What would be the harm? Nothing, except running out of supplies.

So I'd turned back to power testing basics and formed a Hypothesis: There was something about the building that was somehow affecting the Green. A leap, though it didn't seem out of the question as I hadn't noticed anything like this at the radio bunker. With that in mind I devised a simple experiment: Replicate the conditions and pay extra attention then leave the visitors center to observe potential changes and confirm the effect.

Sure it wasn't exactly precise, but good enough for a simple confirmation and could tell me a bit more about what I was dealing with. Maybe even help me figure out whatever the Green was— if that was even possible or this stuff wasn't just a side effect of being shot in the head —and what it could... do…

I blinked and a warm flush ran up my neck. Actually… I dug into the satchel and pulling out my pocket notebook and thumbed through to the pages for my notes on the Green and the Impression. The blanks pages… because I hadn't really experimented with it, now had I? I'd had plans and ideas, concepts to test, yet in spite of that, I'd fixated on simply enlarging insects while getting stuck on the idea of Atlas 2.0.

And what had that gotten me? What did I _really_ know about it? I knew there was an upper limit to how much I could use, but that was about the sum of it.

Shaking my head, I flipped to the page I'd started the notes on and stared at the page conspicuously empty of anything aside from my initial observations about using the Green on insects… to the exclusion of everything else.

Pg.63

— _Connection of missing arm to smoke? Green?_

 _—Connection/Relation phantom limb syndrome? Brain still thinks limb is present and smoke causing nervous response? (Connection to: Sight(other senses)? —Corona Pollentia? (shot in the head and that somehow fixed out of control connection to QAS. Side effect not out of the question.)_

 _—_ Brain still hardwired connection for limb, but limb gone? Try other/without hand.

—Psychosomatic? —Continues: Pg. 66

— _Experiment by adding the smoke to: Water, Dirt, Rock, Metal, Plants, Wood (Green and Dead), Insects, Fish, Crustacean, Invertebrate Animals, Reptiles, Myself (Last Resort)_

 _—Water:_

 _—No tangible result from Exposure_

 _—Dirt:_

 _—Rock:_

 _—No tangible result from Exposure_

 _—Metal:_

 _—Wood (Dead and Green):_

 _—Insect:_

 _—Exposure to smoke results in growth. Uneven growth results in subject bursting (can be violent). Gradual injection seems to work better. Uneven, gradual injection causes bursting. Full body infusion of Green on subject more stable but requires focus. —See: Pg.89 for further notes._

 _—Fish:_

 _—Continues on Pg. 64_

Because of course, I'd largely ignored everything else except insects. Then again, insects _were_ what I was familiar with and what I could feel through my power helped… However, that was nothing but an excuse. I had some new power available to me and all I'd done was go back to what I knew.

Rubbing behind my ear I sighed and called up a batch of test subjects for the night as well as the whiptail. Shrunken now since the previous night's enlargement, though that had only happened in the last few hours. It seemed the more they were enlarged the longer they stayed enlarged before slowly shrinking as it had throughout the day.

Absently flipping to Pg.89 I added that bit of information and looked up to the stars to check the time. A guesstimate at best, but it wouldn't do to compromise the experiment by not simulating the conditions as best I could.

Looking at them though, watching as the stars appeared… unbidden another starscape overlapped it, different sounds of wildlife in my ears. Looking up at them it was too difficult to not think back to the clearing, my thoughts in those final moments of clarity.

"We really are so very small."

Perspective. It was something I'd been lacking in retrospect, only coming after everything had good had turned to ashes. I doubt it would've done me much good anyway.

But thinking about it, about the whole system and Bet and Brockton… It was something that everyone had been lacking. Always would.

In the city— or perhaps the in current era rather —everything was moving so fast you couldn't see beyond your nose. Everything happening around you acted like blinders to keep you from seeing how insignificant some things were.

Here though, on this island, wherever it is that Contessa had dumped me, there wasn't a light around for tens or hundreds of miles.

No light. No one to distract me. No one but me, myself, and I.

Roughly combing my fingers back through my increasingly knotted hair I tore my eyes away from the sky and sighed.

And that was the point of dumping me on this island, wasn't it?

I'd burned out Doormakers power, but Clairvoyant had made it through just fine— I could remember that well enough. Perhaps it was a little arrogant of me to think she would go through the effort, but for her… it wouldn't surprise me if she was keeping an eye on me through him.

Was there a point though? Even if I wasn't in my right mind I'd known full well what I was doing and how—

I stilled for a moment before snorting. Now that was a bit _too_ introspective.

We'd _won_ , and even if it hadn't been clean we'd beaten the odds. Though the means... the means justified the ends...

I sighed again, though more out of resignation to the weight of a problem with no good answer wearing on me. Checking the stars one more time, I figured now was as good a time as any to begin the experiment.

Looking inward, to the impression of the jungle I drew forth a stream of Green that writhed around my missing fingers.

A beetle skittered forward but I held back, instead actually _looking_ at the Green. Watching how the smokey green light flowed and twisted back on itself. Thinking back to my previous experiments it didn't seem any different and the thinness from last night was nowhere to be seen. It was there, though; I _knew_ it was there even if the Green didn't look it.

The way it moved perhaps? Tilting my head back I held the streamer close and squinted, watching it flow the Green did almost seem a little… refined? Not thinner as I'd thought, but... diluted? Maybe… Reaching out with my missing hand I touched an absent index finger to the beetle and the Green flowed.

-I-

Ducking down, I threaded myself between a cluster of palm fronds obstructing the path the crawlers of my swarm had mapped out for me. Not an easy path by any means, but a quick and relatively safe one that took me deeper and deeper into the increasingly dense and increasingly dark depths of the jungle.

Something— a dinosaur —appeared at the edge of my swarm as I high stepped over a thick, pale barked tree root and wove through a stand of woody vines running from the branches overhead to a number of smaller roots. At a glance, it had the same general shape and build of as Many, Moe, and Mack, but I didn't look too closely as my swarm coalesced and drove it off before it could get any closer.

That was the second time now that something had come following along my path. Though third, if I counted the one that I'd walked up on sleeping in a bush.

I checked the small clearing I'd designated my turnaround point and grimaced at the distance left. Not too far, but… I stopped in place as a quiet, back and forth hooting called filled the air and snapped around to peer into the jungle to the left of my impromptu trail.

Again, my swarm coalesced but the source was nothing but a pair of owls. I turned on my heel and started down the trail again. I couldn't be too careful, not after the surprise sleeper.

If Lisa were here, she'd be calling me a stubborn idiot for being out here like this; walking through the jungle in the mid of night, so deep in the bush I couldn't see the stars save the jigsaw outline where the treetops didn't touch. It was like I was just begging to be something's late night snack.

I'd have agreed with her. I _was_ being an idiot, but that wouldn't have changed anything and at this point though there was no point in turning back.

Realistically I didn't even _need_ to be out here, not really. The experiment was over, I'd gotten my answer and confirmed that somehow the Visitors center was affecting the Impression and the Green, somehow.

But in answering it more questions were raised: If the building was affecting the Green as all evidence point to being the case, then how? Or more importantly, _why_? Why did the Visitors center affect the Green and the Impression? It was part of it, I could just tell and it seemed like the most obvious reason. But again, why? Why was easier there than elsewhere?

And that _was_ the age old question though, wasn't it: Why?

Nearing a small but fast running stream my crawlers had found, I picked up speed and jumped the coursing water as my loaded satchel thumped lightly at my side. I'd refill on my way back.

The immediate differences between the two were the first thing that came to me. It was a man-made structure; steel and concrete and wire. That was too simple though, and neither the Green or Impression had changed when my impromptu walkabout took my past near a squat concrete building surrounded by overgrown chain link fencing.

But where there had been nothing with that, looping back around to the visitors center _had_ had an effect, if only a marginal one in making the shadows recede a bit and the impression seem marginally less deadly.

Then, in contrast, going _deeper_ into the jungle had the opposite effect.

In trekking through the dense underbrush I'd done little more than let my feet carry me along while observing, watching the Green and the Impression grow increasingly wild with every step I took: Shadows grew deeper, trees taller, the mossy floor increasingly hazardous with larger and larger undergrowth while becoming tangled in massive roots hiding things that would bite and tear with tooth and claw. And that wasn't even considering the Green itself. Just keeping an eye on the wisp I'd watched it's shade and consistency change, growing visibly darker and thicker to the point of becoming sluggish and jerky while the center of the smokey energy brightened into a near off-white.

It was growing stronger.

If any of that was right though, then would that imply that the Jungle impression is the _literally_ the jungle itself? If so, then what was the Visitors Center?

What did it mean? And furthermore, was it the only one? What about the Water Treatment facility? What about the Workers Complex or Airfield Control or whatever _else_ there might be on the island?

What makes a location special?

One question answered with a dozen more and counting ready to take its place.

The small clearing was just ahead and approaching a curtain of vines barring my path I had the now dinner plate sized whiptail clinging to my back reach out its pedipalps out over my push them aside.

What did it mean that I was able to make leaps and bounds in my progress with enlarging insects that I was able to grow the whiptail to the size of a dinner plate? Why did the difference in the Green have such an effect on my progress after two nights of half-hearted practice compared to my initial efforts?

What was unique about the Visitors center that set it apart?

Stepping into the clearing the whiptail pulled its pedipalps back and the curtain closed behind me and the noises of the jungle seemed to become muted, as if the vines were cutting me off from the world. I glanced around, eyeing the rim of the clearing where a rim of mud ran the perimeter, almost as if it was a bowl. It was broken, but it was still there.

So many questions, but so few answers. Well with any luck I'd answer another while I was out here tonight.

The whiptail dropped from my back as I stepped away from the center of the clearing for the arachnid to take my place while I drew upon the Impression. The green wisp threaded around my fingers and I simply watched it for a moment before glancing up at the starlit sky, to the stars and the moon and all it gave me.

Perspective.

I gathered the wisp into the palm of my missing hand, compressing and condensing and shaping it into a bead of brilliant green light. Then I kept drawing on the Impression and the Green flowed.

I had questions, but I had little way of answering them save for experimenting and there was one question I wanted to be answered: What would happen if I dumped the capacity of the Impression into something?

Looking down I stared at the glowing sphere in my hand, its light casting shadows across the bowl that mingled with the moonlight. More. I compressed more and more of the Green into the increasingly dense sphere and it grew brighter and brighter in conjunction.

It was almost like a miniature sun cast in green. A roiling sphere of energy. Something pinched at the back of my head and I knew I was getting close to the limit but I kept at it, closing my missing fingers around the sphere as if to stabilize it and keep it together while it grew brighter and brighter and bright—

A sharp stab in the back of my brain made my vision darken at the edges and throw off my center of balance that nearly fell over, but something... my knees had buckled… I blinked spots out of my eyes and gripped the roiling sun for dear life because that was one question I didn't want to know the answer to quite yet: What would happen if the capacity of the Impression was released in an uncontrolled manner.

Blinking away the spots I looked to see what had caught me and… the vines? Lifting my head I looked around the clearing to see the curtain of vines reaching toward the center of the clearing, toward the sphere.

"...Oh." More questions to add to the list then.

My missing fingers spasmed and the sphere… _wobbled._ A jet of Green shot from the upper hemisphere before fixing my grip. The effect of the emission almost made me lose it again, though as dark purple leave shot with green steamers bloomed into life along the vines.

A weak giggle leaked from my lips as the back of my head throbbed. "I suppose I should have experimented on plants then." And more questions on top of that.

But I still wanted an answer to the question I'd come out here for. Looking to the Whiptail I reached out...

-I-

The warm, early morning sun beat down on my neck as I sat atop the Visitors Building; my legs loosely followed beneath me and my head bowed as stared at my notebook spread across my ankles. My fingers danced as I absently twirled a dinosaur headed pen— one of a number I'd pulled from a gift shop closet beside the restaurant.

The pen stopped mid turn and I flipped back a page, skimmed my slightly less chicken-scratch notes there, then flipped back and pen to paper.

— _Application of Injecting entire capacity of Green from Impression_

 _—Despite debilitating issues with utilizing the Impressions entire capacity via a single, highly dense source of Green, results (see: Pg. 91 for full measurements and further notation) are promising in bypassing the recurring issues regarding early experiments requiring gradual growth and even exposure through complete and instantaneous saturation of subject with the Green. Note: Strict control required to prevent any inadvertent shaker effect or as yet unforeseen complications concerning plant life in the immediate vicinity._

Tapping the pen against my calf I glanced it over the page over and nodded. "That should about do it." Dropping the pen in and closing the notebook I dropped it into my satchel and stood, rising up on my toes as I reached for the sky. "Ueh!"

My back popped and snapped as I twisted in place before looking out the back of the building and across the width of the island to the rising sun. "Yeah, time to get going."

—

Many thanks for being of beta halpings go to Darkarma


	10. Chapter 10

C'est La Vie (Worm/MTG) #03.1

A/N: Puts out portion one of next serving.

—

There was always a teething period to figuring out something to do with my power: Be it actually regaining my sanity in the hospital when I'd gone a little crazy from the sensory input of being connected to my swarm, or figuring out how to speak through them.

Right now, though… right now, as I tried to head out, it was watching myself through the eyes of my monstrously enlarged Whiptail in real time. I watched myself turn away while pulling on my glittery golden poncho even as it wobbled dangerously and begin tipping on its small wheels. I watched as my one exposed eye widened in panic while trying to get the fabric to settle over my shoulders as I spun.

I listened to myself pleading for it to stop, _begging_ — "Nononono!" —while lunging back to catch the handtruck against my chest to keep it upright and a hot flush crept up my neck as I watched myself all but hug the hand truck.

The enhanced vision allowed by the enlarging had saved me from having everything spill out across the lobby floor, but at the same time it was a little disorienting and watching myself flail about in real-time did a definite number to my self-esteem.

There were always downsides. Watching yourself look like an idiot just happened to be one of them in this case.

Still holding onto the hand truck— and holding it up —I looked sideways to the open front doors were letting in enough light to illuminate the room and where the now nearly Bastard sized arachnid sat. Watching. Judging me for not being ready while it patiently waited there like some demented pet.

Well, ok, that was a little silly, but that's what it _felt_ like. Their brain hadn't really changed in spite of its exponential enlargement, it'd just gotten bigger with the Green filling in the gaps. However, there was still something about the Whiptail now that I couldn't quite put my finger on...

But regardless, what I did it know was that it had it _easy_. All it had to carry was the rolled up gurney pad, somewhat intact tablecloths and placemats I hadn't used for packing material, and a few lightweight bits and bobs lashed to its back. A few, maybe ten pounds, max.

Handy though, and I already had a laundry list of things I could use it for, but damn did 'detrimental' not properly convey the problems that came with it. And that's not even taking into account the near debilitating headache I'd gotten immediately after it'd started growing. Definitely not something to do often until I got a better handle on whatever this stuff was.

Oh, saturating it with the Green had worked. It had beyond any expectations I might've had— the Whiptail hadn't exploded for one thing. But the amount of Green wasted in the process meant I could have a dozen Whiptails the size of dinner plates for the price of a single Bastard sized one. Until I refined my control there was simply too much waste for it to be practical, especially as it's up-scaling hadn't done much for its carrying capacity.

A Hercules Beetle on the other hand… _Yes, please_.

But utility, or lack thereof aside, watching myself in real time while I was watching it was just a little unsettling… and distracting. With a thought, the Whiptail rose up and unfolded its spindly, six-foot legs and scuttled outside to clear debris from the wheelchair ramp.

And watching it awkwardly fit through the doors only emphasized its downsides. The just made the thing a little too awkward to be practical.

Returning to the hand truck at hand I tentatively stepped back and watched the stack of three large, opaque yellow-white plastic food tubs wobbled in place.

Because of course, as much as I'd've liked to simply grab my things and _go_ , the actual act of leaving obviously had to be unnecessarily more complex than that.

My lips thinned into a line and I gave the wobbling stack the stink eye before grabbing the handle as it started leaning a hair too far. Still overbalanced then. The floor didn't help, but it was still overbalanced.

No other choice then.

Stepping close, I wrapped my arm around the top box and pulling it tight to my chest carefully lowered it to the floor. Then repeating the action with the second, I pulled the lids off all three and began shuffling things about.

Really, if it weren't for the fact that _I_ was the one who'd packed the crates, I might have said something was conspiring against me. It was a stupid thing to get caught up on and one I'd overlooked by not taking into account how large a part having two hands would've played in keeping the hand truck stable.

Unfortunately, there were only so many things that could be moved around before the situation called for more drastic measures.

-I-

More than a few minutes later I was rolling my judicially bound bounty down the cleaned up wheelchair ramp. Stopping at the bottom, the Whiptail and I briefly tugged at the cord wound about the tubs and hand truck, and pulling a few knots tighter I half dragged the hand truck through the leaves and loose dirt to the much smoother— if still rather leaf ridden due to the interlacing branches that had grown out overhead —hardpack drive and began the long walk back to the lonely mountain.

The hand truck bumped along behind me as I made my way to the( far brighter(?) main road, its small wheels rolling over the uneven surface along and giving off the occasional squeak that made an oddly comforting addition to the chorus of the jungle's wildlife.

It offset the sound of me just walking by myself… and wasn't that depressing.

But regardless, so long as I didn't dwell on it too deeply I should have a pleasant enough walk with the bird calls and cicadas to keep me... company…

I blinked. Not that being by myself wasn't anything new of course. But… Being alone, with no one around…

Well, not _no one._ Depending on how I defined 'company' the Whiptail could qualify as a pet of sorts and despite knowing it was there I checked back over my shoulder to visually confirm I was following along behind me. Damn quiet that thing was.

Also not really a pet if I was being honest. What was there though? A dinosaur? I snorted. Well, that would be a _bit_ much. But what about a toad or a snake? There were plenty of those around and a terrarium wouldn't be too difficult all things considered. Although, the glass would be a bit problematic— or I could not make it overly complicated and use one of the tubs once I emptied them out or came back for more.

If not that though… one the opossums I occasionally felt lumbering around the mountain? I knew those could be kept as pets but like the snake, it would have to be found very young if I wanted it to be docile. They had certainly enjoyed eating the little dinosaur after I'd tossed it and the marsupials _were_ scavengers.

Maybe a bird? Nests weren't exactly hard to find so that could work and I'd practically be certainly be spoiled for choice.

The corners of my lips turned up as all too easily I saw myself trying to teach a big red parrot how to speak.

It probably wouldn't even be that hard and having something simple to take care of something would be nice, not to mention having the companionship. Admittedly it'd be responsibility beyond having a goldfish, and one that might make things a bit more difficult depending on what it ate, but… I smiled as the idea gained traction and details came together and let off my flyers to hear the birds a little better.

Not long after I turned onto the main road, though, as the giant gate appeared in the distance, I heard something _else_ among the noises of the jungle. Something _other._

Stopping in place I listened and soon enough the sound became more pronounced and a faint, but distinctly rhythmic, " _Whoomp-whoomp-whoomp_ " sound registered. Just barely there over the sounds of the jungle but unmissable now that I'd heard it. I landed my fliers to eliminate their white-noise buzz and listened while quickly readying to stash the hand truck into the jungle and if something big was coming.

However, as quickly as it came I dismissed it as being the footsteps of the giants that lived here; the rhythm of the sound was simply too steady, too... regular, and none of the worms in the ground felt it, even at the edge of my range. I narrowed my eyes. The flyers _did_ feel it, though. It was in the air. Wings? Winged dinosaurs had existed and if those were on the island… I wasn't hard to imagine one dive bombing me from outside my range. That may be a problem, but… No, not wings, they'd have to be ridiculously big if that were the case.

Turning to face the jungle I cocked my head toward the sound as it grew louder, rising in pitch while the " _Whoomp-whoomp-whoomp_ " became more pronounced— heavier, almost concussive, and the same… the exact same. Rhythmic, repetitive and something I'd realized had been noticeably missing since my sabbatical from civilization that made it stand out all the more. It was _mechanical_.

I blinked as I identified that sound. Definitely not wings then. Or rather, not wings in the _conventional_ sense.

Less than a minute later the fliers at the outer edge of my range were buffeted and scattered about by localized gusts of wind, while at the same time a small number of ants a hundred feet in the air were added. The vibrations I could feel through them cinched it and looked up as the sound of chopper blades became a droning roar and a neon-orange helicopter tore past, flying just above the treetops.

My hair whipped about in the harsh downdraft, getting in my mouth and tousling into a birds nest of knots. I absently combed it back as I turned to track the helicopter, though quickly enough it was out of sight and tracked it through the position of the new additions to the swarm.

I watched as the helicopter's flight path took it directly over the Visitors Center before the ants briefly disappeared from range. Then it must have circled around as it re-appeared, this time going much slower and slowing even further until it was hovering above the overgrown building.

People. Though potentially more important, people not arriving in a tinker-tech craft. Although at the same time that didn't necessarily mean anything.

But still, people, and they went where I'd _just_ come from… because of course.

I breathed in then let it out slowly as I weighed what to do. There were people, but… _people_.

Did I want to risk exposing myself? Were they aware of the alternate Earths? Did they have parahumans? Had this been one of the thousand world's touched by the fighting or were they spared? Did they know of me? Did they know what I did and what I had to do?

I grimaced and scratched my neck while watching as they continued to hover, albeit while slowly moving around an increasingly large area.

Announce myself to whoever was aboard, hide and watch, or be frozen by indecision until they leave and be left wondering...

"To hell with it," My eyes snapped up to the jungle, seeing through the trees to where the helicopter was hovering. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Dragging the hand truck into the scrub encroaching on the road I propped it against a tree and dove into the jungle.

—


	11. Chapter 11

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #03.2

A/N: BANZAI! Psuedosim throws second serving tray at table!

—

I practically tore through the jungle, my legs pumping as I wove through the underbrush. Various things I'd been wondering about popped up as I ran, but forcing them aside I concentrated on the here and began slowing to a walk as I neared the Visitor Centers drive.

Through the ants' relative position to the rest of the swarm, I put the helicopter as roughly halfway up the drive to the Visitors Center and moved through the jungle to put myself parallel to where they were hovering. I wanted to get close, but not so close that I might be running head-on into someone or someone's hostile to me.

Stopping at the point parallel to the helicopter, I crept from the thickest part of the jungle and knelt beside a thick tree; overgrown by vines with high reaching clumps of light green ferns growing up around its base that could keep me hidden from sight. Making a few deft adjustments to the fronds, I was able to get eyes on the helicopter and I watched as it hovered in place above an opening in the canopy of interlacing branches, the rotors blowing off the all the loose leaves to create a gentle green rain.

It hung there for maybe a minute and I used that time to settle in, half leaning against the tree trunk and directing elements of my swarm into position while it did nothing but hover; its roar drowned out everything except the noise of a sliding side door suddenly slamming open. I stilled as a hooded, bandana masked figure in beige-green BDU's, knee pads, & tactical vest strapped down with various pouches appearing in the portal. A Cape?

Scrutinizing them, I moved more elements into place as they stepped out onto the skids and leaned out to look down through the opening. My stomach turned over, the action making me think for an instant that they were going to jump down and I shifted as much of my swarm as I could while keeping it discrete; just in case they were a Brute or Mover.

Then they threw out a blue bundle and stepped off the skid, the bundle unraveling into a long length of rope while the excess coiled into a loose pile among the falling leaves as they rappelled through the opening. Black boots came first as the slid down the rope, their fatigues flapping in the wind where it wasn't held down by the vest and what I thought may have been an outfit I realized was likely an actual uniform. If given a pallet swap and some different gear they would've been the picture of the mercenaries under Coil's, then subsequently Lisa's, employ.

But just as quickly as they'd appeared, they stopped. A green arm pulled as they were just a few feet below the canopy, the rope jerked, sending the figure swinging until their momentum bled out and they hung there.

My eyes narrowed as they wound a leg around the rope— or the rope around their leg —and began looking around, peering over their shoulders and twisting about to get a look at everything they could. The image of them up there tripped something; not necessarily how he was hanging there, but the position and looking around as they were…

After a few seconds, the figure settled back, 'sitting', and touched something on their harness. An absent motion, but a moment later another bundle of rope unraveled as it fell through the air and another— much larger —figure in identical green dress but laden down with a bulging rucksack and green duffel rappelled down.

But I didn't look too closely at them, only looking long enough to notice a black stocked Kalashnikov style rifle hanging at their side as out of the corner of my eye the hanging figure brought up an odd rifle from their side and began scanning over the area through a dull, silver-toned scope. It had a wood stock, but the barrel was a thick thing, almost as if an extra long mag-light had been stuck over it. Far wider than it should reasonably be… It might be nothing, the armorer for the Chicago PRT certainly hadn't had _everything_ when working with me on how to use my swarm for ID'ing— and breaking —guns, but I couldn't shake it.

I sent a number of flyers carrying ants and other small crawlers toward them to investigate before turning my attention back to the large figure as they touched down. A man, it seemed, if the buzzed head the rough shape of a brick and standing height of _fucking huge_ was anything to go by. And shrugging off dumping his cargo brought up was looked like a decidedly non-standard and oversized Kalashnikov and look into the jungle.

My eyes returned to the sitting figure as the image clicked. With them up there they could keep a lookout while others deployed. An overwatch position then. They were simply hanging rather than sitting in the helicopter… Smart, especially considering the things that lurked in these woods. Something of a moot point at the moment, but still, prudent of them.

My eyes drifted back to his gun as my investigatory crawlers began gathering, but the other rope swaying drew my eyes away to another figure rappelling down. More average sized, if a bit on the slim side, slight. They carried another duffel— tan —in one hand, a large backpack in the other, and had a disquietingly long rifle barrel sticking out over their shoulder— _his_ shoulder, I noted, making out a thin beard as he touched down.

Another man. That was two confirmed out of three so far, odds that the one up high would make it three?

I moved flyers and crawlers into place to land on the new guy as the descended and touched down.

Moving quickly, he shrugged off the backpack and taking a knee— on the knee that only had one knee pad curiously enough —to dig into the duffel I was able to see the barrel as belonging to an elongated Kalashnikov. Repositioning a few swarm elements I was able to get a look at a long rifle with a large scope, half wrapped in rags and a tangle of belts wrapped around the skeletonized stock. A marksman then, presumably. A bit on the small side though, and almost dwarfed by the big-guy as he pulled a seemingly cut down Kalashnikov out of the duffel and handing it off before pulling out another of the odd barreled rifles for himself.

I glanced between the three for a moment, looking over their gear and noting little details I'd overlooked while my fliers for a more in-depth look. Like, each having the same sidearm holstered on their right thighs, so they were likely right-handed, or a small, square-headed spade shovel of all things strapped to their opposite hip.

A commonality of equipment and uniform then, and likely training for that matter. Though each seemed to have their own specialized role.

My attention returned to the one above as a mental outline of the gun began forming, albeit slowly. Signs were showing that it was a normal gun going by its internals as well as the skeletonized wood stock pressed against his shoulder, but the barrel looking as it did make me a little leery. It may not have been much to go on, but that was more than enough space for a Tinker to build in something ugly.

Thus far there weren't any covert or overt no signs of any tinker-tech among the gear they had on display, yet, if they even had any at all, but until my crawlers fleshed out the mental picture I was going to be leery. Guns were definitely something that didn't necessarily need to _look_ like anything special had been done to them. Tinker tendencies to add LEDs and flashy bits or no.

The lasers that Coil provided his men being one, and going up against Bakuda as my first introduction to that aspect of cape-life had certainly left a lasting impression. Though brain damage tended to have that effect.

Fortunately, it seemed they were all too regimented to pay notice to the jungle's _many_ insects, though to keep up appearances they still made a nuisance of themselves. But because of that, I was able to quickly amass a large enough number of crawlers and a weight was lifted off my shoulders as they found access into the various weapons and discovered nothing out of the ordinary.

Though that still left the… ah, the odd barrel wasn't even anything special it seemed, just a largely hollow space with a series of angled baffles mounted around a short barrel. Something I wasn't entirely familiar with and an interesting design wrapped up in one package: a silencer. Although, the ammunition in the magazine seemed a bit on the small side; no larger than 9mm if I what the crawlers felt was right.

But at any rate, it was nothing my Darwin's Bark costume or armor shouldn't be able to handle. Let alone with the additional layer of protection in the form of my poncho regardless of the Orb Weavers less capable silk. Not that it wouldn't hurt like hell to be shot, but best to avoid that as there was still the matter of the _other_ guns.

My eyes snapped to the big-guy as he turned his back to me and scanned the jungle that'd overgrown the pond with his oversized Kalashnikov at low ready.

For one thing, the crawlers in his weapon were giving me the rather disconcerting impression that there were twelve gauge shotgun shells in the magazine. Good as my armor was in an ounce to ounce comparison against conventional or even tinker-tech body armor, there was little that my silk could do against a slug if that was what the shells were loaded with. And though the marksman was holding the suppressed rifle, the long rifle was another matter.

I was still working on getting feelers on that, though I'd split the contingent to check the tan duffel to see what else may be in there.

Overall, it was an unsettling amount of hardware and I had little in the way of my normal swarm to sure deal with them. If it came to a fight, the untested alternatives would have to suffice.

Nevertheless, in the jungle and throughout the scrub wild orb weavers were hard at work spinning out lengths of webbing to be picked up by flyers ready to go at a moment's notice while select crawlers gathered. If anything the Leaf Cutter ants were a welcome addition and expected them to do quite well if push came to shove.

Though that said it would still take a little more time for everything to be in place, only so many effective bugs could be moved around without garnering undue attention. But preferably, none of that would be necessary and I perked up a little as a fourth man began descending from the helicopter... And then there was one that was unlike the others. A civilian, or the employer of this bunch, rather.

Genteel, in a word. Rather than the mono-colored beige-green BDU's everyone else wore, he was in a decidedly higher quality outfit with a dark green canvas vest with a number of pockets and— what looked like —leather padding on the shoulders over a cream, long sleeve shirt and khaki cargo pants stuffed into brown leather boots. Same sidearm holstered at his hip though. But was that more in keeping with the equipment commonality or something else?

Slowly rappelling down in a full body harness rather than whatever the soldiers had been using, he touched down and the vigil of the one up above ended as they finally descended the rest of the way. Disconnecting from their rope they moved to their employers' side and helped him strip out of a tangle of straps and buckles while the other two took up the watch.

I attempted to listen in as they exchanged words, however, whatever was said between them the helicopter blew away. Glancing up the older man said something else as he stepped free of the harness and my assessment went up a notch as he turned and said something that had sun-kissed skin with deep laugh lines pulling tight as he smiled. A 'gentleman adventurer' if there ever was one.

A little vain perhaps, but it was the impression I got and there was an almost aristocratic air to him.

However, just as the comparison was made I was forced to revise it as the hooded mercenary pulled down the bandana and pushed his hood back to reveal a pale, gaunt-faced man beneath. Stuffing the harness into the tan duffel he pulled out and handed off two halves of a heavy, big barreled shotgun with glossy wood furniture and gleaning silver engravings.

Quickly putting the two pieces together the older man cracked the breech and cradled it over an arm while reaching into a vest pocket. My prior hopefulness soured as the shoulder padding suddenly made sense: A hunter, and the mercenaries were no doubt here as security to keep him alive while he went after whatever trophy he was here for. Though with what was on this island it wasn't hard to guess, and if anything that made the distaste even worse.

Not that I'd have much of a problem if he brought down the giant chicken, of course, that would be one problem I'd rather not deal with again. But it reminded me just a little too strongly of the too-wealthy-for-their-own-good 'trophy' hunters that went to Africa so they could bag one of the few elephants left on that war-torn continent. That half of them died in the process was of no small amount of schadenfreude, though.

Finally finding what he was searching for the hunter pulled out a pair of gleaming gold— or brass —casings and dropped them into the shotgun... no, _rifle_ , and snapped the breech shut.

Something that could take down the local wildlife no doubt, and another thing my silk _definitely_ wasn't rated to stop.

Exchanging a few words with the first mercenary, they stepped clear of the ropes and after pressing a hand to his harness the ropes went slack and fell to the earth with the helicopter taking off a moment later. Grabbing two more of the cut down Kalashnikovs out of the tan duffel, he passed one to the hunter while keeping one for himself and began shoving the rope into the bag while occasionally glancing up to eye the surrounding jungle.

Meanwhile, the other two moved closer, facing out as they stood guard with their legs spread in a wide stance and respective weapons held close at the low ready. Not exactly relaxed, but patiently waiting in case anything with too many teeth popped out.

The hunter and the first mercenary (who I was beginning to think was the one in charge, the commander of the squad) moved together to converse in something eastern-european sounding while looking over a clipboard the hunter had pulled out of the duffel. Watching them, looking them over and getting an in-depth feel for the things they were kitted out with— things that would admittedly solve a number of my problems, problems that could be solved if I wanted to get my fingers sticky —I began re-evaluating my decision to get as close as I had.

But nothing I could do about that now, I'd just have to wait for them to move along and get moving. Much as I wanted to get my questions answered, I wouldn't be doing something like introducing myself to these people without thinking about it a bit and weighing the consequences. But not the options, because I really didn't have any of those. In thinking that though, I could almost hear Lisa raise an eyebrow. Going into things without thinking things through? Me?

I sighed, the almost wistful sound hidden by the sounds of the jungle returning with the noise of the helicopter fading into the distance. Really, one would've thought I'd have learned by now. Lung, The Undersiders, Leviathan, Alexandria, _Khepri_ … Thinking things through… that was one lesson that didn't _quite_ stick no matter how often I got bit.

And this bunch… Termites finished chewing through a dead branch and sent it crashing to the earth, snapping and crashing into all sorts of things on the way down. I watched as the young marksman twitched, his head snapping to the source of the sound and his gun come up. Were a _mite_ twitchy.

I watched as he focused on that point for a few moments longer before moving on to standing watch, his head panning back and forth. With a reaction like that, I was likely to get myself shot more than anything else. Though maybe if I could orchestrate an encounter?

Biting my lip I shook my head, discarding the idea for the time being. That could wait until when I thought about things a bit more. These people were mercenaries, speaking a language I didn't know, on an island where dinosaurs existed, and were by all appearances led by a man who by all appearances was a big game hunter. And if I had anything of value, I'd have bet that they weren't supposed to be here.

So, me just introducing myself… no, if anything that might just get me shot. Best to just head back to the mountain and figure things out from there. And they had sent the helicopter off after all and had their bags. Odd's were they'd be staying a bit.

Be nice if they got a move on though. I grimaced as an ache began building deep in my thigh and shifted moving from one knee to the other— I met the marksman's eyes and froze, seeing him staring back for a long, tense moment that drew on. Then cocking his head he stepped away from the group, his focus still zeroed, though his eyes wandering over the fern hiding me as if looking for something. Or as if he was looking for _me_.

That couldn't be possible, though. I hadn't _done_ anything to give myself away.

But he kept searching, and if anything he seemed to be holding his rifle a little higher, a little tighter.

This couldn't be happening.

Looking up from the clipboard the commander tracked the marksman as he stepped away, then followed where he was looking. He cleared his throat. "Artur, chto zametil?"  
Looking up from the clipboard the commander mercenary leader tracked the marksman as he stepped away, then followed where he was looking. He cleared his throat. "Artur, what do you see?"

There was no. Fucking. _Way._ But the marksman's, continued focus, said otherwise. My crawlers began moving into position and the fliers took the air, just in case. My own prudence. It would have been nice for it to not have been necessary.

Not looking away the marksman pointed to my fern, "Chto-to v kustakh. Von tam."  
Not looking away the marksman pointed to my fern, "I saw something, in the bush. There."

This wasn't fair.

Shifting his grip to cradle the rifle in his arms the hunter glanced back and forth between the two men. "Chto?"  
Shifting his grip to cradle the rifle in his arms the hunter glanced back and forth between the two men. "What?"

"Blesk kakoy-to," the marksman grunted while keeping his eyes fixed on my position.  
"A glint," the marksman grunted while keeping his eyes fixed on my position.

This was _bullshit._

Frowning, he turned back to the hunter and nodded in the direction of the Visitors Center. "Navernoye pokazalos', komandir. Nam nado obustroit'sya, potom my mozhem vydvinut'sya na dorogu."  
Frowning, he turned back to the hunter and nodded in the direction of the Visitors Center. "Probably nothing. We must get settled, then we can go on the road."

Quiet for a moment, the hunter nodded sharply but immediately after he looked hard at where I was hidden and his lips pursed. "Blesk, kak v zerkale?"  
Quiet for a moment, the hunter nodded sharply but immediately after he looked hard at where I was hidden and his lips pursed. "A glint you said? As in a reflection?"

"Da, komandir, blesk" I looked back to the younger man to saw the tip of his tongue peek out as he licked his lips. "Mozhet pokazalos', no posle moyego poslednego tura ya vse yeshche naostorozhe."  
"Da, komandir, blesk" I looked back to the younger man to saw the tip of his tongue peek out as he licked his lips. "Yes Sir, a glint. May be nothing but my last tour is still a little fresh and it doesn't feel like nothing."

Snapping back to the hunter I saw his expression inexplicably soften, and looking to the marksman he nodded. "Ponimayu. Skoreye vsego kaplya rosy poymala luch sveta, no day odin vystrel, na vsyakiy sluchay."  
Snapping back to the hunter I saw his expression inexplicably soften, and looking to the marksman he nodded. "Understandable. Likely some dew left that caught the light but why don't you take one shot, just in case."

The muzzle snapping up was all the warning I received and before any of my crawlers could bite down the marksman's finger squeezed. Within the gun, where my crawlers had infiltrated I felt a wire pull, a mechanism trip, and a mass of metal slam forward before enough crawlers could put themselves on the primer.

I dove, half pushing off the tree and half jumping to the right as the investigatory crawlers within the suppressor were incinerated as the gun coughed. The sound was nothing like what a gunshot should've, and there was a dull _clack_ that immediately followed. But the impact of it negligible beside the sound of the bullet tearing through the fern not a foot behind me before tumbling into the jungle as the ground came rushing up and I reached out to catch myself.

Automatically I reached out, instinctively trying to catch myself as I had hundreds of times before in school hallways as the ground came rushing up.

One hand wasn't enough. My fingers sank into the damp soil then I continued forward and the bone… flesh, veins, muscle or whatever Amy had made at the end of my stump slammed into the ground.

My vision swam and my heart thundered in my ears. Whatever she had done, she'd left in the pain receptors. The spiteful bitch.

Nearly as one the mini-swarms present on the mercenaries and the hunter turned in my direction with their various weapons coming up. This time my crawlers massed into the receiver. No silk, not yet, but it would keep the chambered rounds from firing.

Enough to give me a second, maybe, hopefully, but my swarm grew thicker behind them and among their feet as I pushed myself up—

"-op! Ne strelyat'!" The hunter. Muzzles lowered and save the marksman the mini-swarms shifted into less aggressive stances.  
"-d Fire! Hold your fire!" The hunter. Muzzles lowered and save the marksman the mini-swarms shifted into less aggressive stances.

My heart was still thundering pounding from the close call, but I forced myself to take a deep breath and exhaled as I tilted my head to face the four, a curtain of my hair falling around my face.

From what I could see the mercenaries were all sharing the same general look of befuddlement, or confusion, but the hunter… His fingers tightened around his rifles glossy wood stock and I slowly pushed myself up and settled into a crouch, my muscles tightened. "Uh… hello."

No one responded or spoke up, though the commander looked to the hunter who in turn looked like he'd bitten into something sour with his lips pinching into a thin line. "Neveroyatno."  
No one responded or spoke up, though the commander looked to the hunter who in turn looked like he'd bitten into something sour with his lips pinching into a thin line. "Unbelievable."

The word came out as almost a snarl and I thought he might have spat as his face twisted. "Ya znal, chto eto bylo slishkom khorosho, chtoby byt' pravdoy. Dolbannyye karteli ne smogli by zaklyuchit' chestnuyu sdelku dazhe s zhizn'yu ikh materey na konu." Dismissively waving at me he turned back to the mercenaries leader. "Izbav'tes' ot neye, i prinesite mne lyuboye zapisyvayushcheye ustroystvo, kotoroye smozhete nayti."  
The word came out as almost a snarl and I thought he might have spat as his face twisted. "I should have known that it was too good to be true. You can not trust damned cartels to make an honest bargain, even if their mother's life was on line." Dismissively waving at me he turned back to the mercenaries leader. "Dispose of her and bring me any recording device that you will find."

I didn't have the faintest clue what he'd just said, but the big-guys grimace followed by fractional widening of the marksman's eyes and the muzzle dipping was a proverbial life raft that I latched onto for dear life and jumped at it. Literally _._

Throwing up the back of my poncho to hide my body I lunged forward, flinging myself through the barbed lower fronds of a tall palm and felt the suppressed rifle snap up and clacked importantly. I ducked and contorted, moving at oblique angles as the chamber was cleared and the marksman tracked my movement, just barely moving aside in time as a series of _cough-clack's_ sent a spread of bullets whizzing through the underbrush around me and I sprinted into the dinosaur infested jungle.

—

And again thanks go to Darkarma for helping and pointing out some rough patches.  
Edit: With thanks going to AoD for helping to cleaning up the russian dialogue and translating it.  
Edit: Thanks to to Faraway-R for correcting a line that didn't translate well.


	12. Chapter 12

Anyhow, I'm done and after the last couple revision cycles I'm beginning to think this came out better than I thought it would. Probably not 100%, and mileage may vary, but it was getting time to let it go. Also the whole revision process made it so overly long that I had to partition it into two parts, so there's _that_.

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #03.3

A/N: ┬─┬ノ( º _ ºノ) PseudoSim rights table and brings new servings!

—

Foliage whipped by as I fled into the jungle, running full tilt to get away from the mercenaries. Not a second into my flight, though, an argument erupted between the old hunter and the gaunt commander, a rapid back in forth exchange that quickly escalated until the hunter's arm snapped up and pointed into the jungle.

A moment later the big-guy of the bunch stepped forward and the crawlers investigating his rucksack hit the ground. Then the marksman shrugged his pack off and stepped up beside him.

Shit.

With my unanswered questions lingering at the fore, I cut down on the active scouting in the immediate vicinity. A moment later the big-guy crashed into the underbrush, closely followed by the marksman, and any budding hope of simply being let go was crushed. Immediately, I set out watching them, observing, and assessing what I was up larger man took on the role of pace-setter and used his size to bully a path through the underbrush while the smaller one kept apace a few yards behind, head constantly turning to scan their surroundings.

Both men held their weapons close to their chests, at the low ready position and no doubt able to be brought up at a moment's notice if they had a clear shot.

With that in mind, I immediately shifted to an irregular, circuitous route through the trees and thick undergrowth in order to minimize the chance of that happening. Beyond that... I grimaced and cast my senses wide, trying to decide what to do and looking for options. They'd proven themselves willing to use their weapons— if with some hesitancy on the marksman's part. But, just because they were willing to use lethal force didn't mean I needed to go to the same lengths... as things stood, there was enough blood on my hands without adding theirs unnecessarily.

Besides, silk and armor aside, a single ant hidden behind the front sights of their weapons was enough to avoid being shot. After all, bullets moved in a flat trajectory and a single step was all it would take to negate any worth they had.

But the uncertainty of direction aside, it wouldn't do to just leave their weapons active without doing _something._ Also, just what that shotgun was loaded with was still up in the air and I'd prefer not having to find out first hand _._

As discreetly as possible I began sending my bugs their way, be it through the air or from foliage the men connected with while pursuing me.

However, the question of what the shotgun was loaded with lingered.

Was it loaded with slugs? Buckshot? Or perhaps with something else? If so I'd need to be conscious of potential shot spread. I could take buckshot so long as it wasn't point blank, I _knew_ that— In making my new suits I'd tested for it and had made _damn_ sure they could handle it. With the added thickness of my poncho it would be little issue, but anything more exotic like flechettes would be a problem. I'd had enough experience getting shot already to last a lifetime, I didn't need anymore... although, the yellow-grey coloration of the orb-weavers' raw silk certainly wouldn't be of any help in getting away.

Then again, the white armor paneling beneath would be little better in that regard… when this was over I needed to take a more critical look at my costume situation. I'd been banking on being alone in this place, thinking I could take my time, but clearly, that wasn't the case. And it wasn't _just_ my costume or operating in the environment, but my body. I'd been lax in adapting to the absence of my arm and whatever the deal was with the phantom limb syndrome and the Green wasn't helping me one bit. Not being able to catch myself as I had… that was a problem. Maybe an armored sleeve for the foreseeable future? Some sort of sock or wrap? It was something to work on while figuring out some dyes. I may not have needed camouflage when fighting Scion, but it wasn't something I could afford to neglect any longer.

It was a plan, but not one that was of much help at the moment as I tracked my pursuers and narrowed down my options to a workable Plan B beyond 'flee into the jungle'. Though really, what kind of idiots go chasing after someone in a place like this? The fact that they _had_ , however... and seemingly with little reservation... That didn't bode well, especially with how they didn't appear to be having any problems keeping up in their, well… _hunt_ , wasn't that far off the mark.

And they _were_ hunting me; they were tracking the trail I left in the underbrush and on the ground, following it. My power gave me the best means of moving through any terrain, but this environment… it was causing just many problems for me as it was solving for them. Where the bugs of the jungle gave me easy paths to follow, I, in turn, gave my pursuers a pre-blazed trail to track. I was accustomed to an urban environment, not a tropical rainforest. Not yet at least, and looking back on the big-guy and marksman duo… that was something I needed to figure out. And _now_ , rather than later.

The tangled web of paths woven throughout spread out before me as I kept track of the distance between me and my pursuers. That practice had come more from habit than any significant concern I'd initially had for them catching up. Since the beginning of the chase their pace— and to a lesser extent their distance —had remained consistent, _remarkably_ so, with them only allowing the distance to shrink. As it happened twice before when the footing was good. They were trying to run me down, tire me out to make it easier on themselves no doubt, but for what reason I couldn't guess. I wasn't an animal, though, I was a person, I could think, and them setting a steady pace let me set my own while working out what to do.

Turning onto a more difficult path had helped a bit but not enough; they simply sped up and returned the distance to 'normal'. Always keeping me in sight. It was as good as a confirmation.

It complicated things though. It meant they were unlikely to let me gain enough of a lead on them that I could slip away and hide in the foliage. But I _needed_ to break contact. How, though?

A bait and switch with a swarm-clone might work. Slip into the bush where it's particularly thick and dark, have it take my place… they'd be none the wiser.

I'd still need to be sufficiently far away, and on that point, I was right back to where I started… or perhaps if I had a sufficient enough distraction, be _close_ , and switch out seamlessly enough so as to give them a target to keep pursuing while passing me by?

I mulled that over for a moment before adding it to the 'maybe' list. It would require precise timing, and no matter what would carry a certain degree of risk that might _not_ be necessary to get out of this.

Nor might using my swarm be necessary for that matter. Or rather, using my swarm would be a risk.

Thus far I'd held back due to not knowing, but the dismissive way the hunter had sent them after me… that made me think they _didn't_ know who I was, or _what_ I was. But even if they didn't know that didn't preclude there being notices out concerning my abilities if this world was connected to the others.

With everything, I'd done as Khepri in the battle against Scion… I couldn't even hazard a guess at how many people might want to see my head on a pike. Although, however many I'd taken control of and survived would probably be a good number to start with.

If that was indeed the case then it wouldn't do to paint a target on my back by using my swarm to drive them off. Seeing insects moving in coordination... they might not have recognized _me_ , but the effects were less mistakable. And if there were notifications out about my abilities, then that was the sort of thing that would send up red flags.

My lips curled and water splashed against my boots as I ran through a puddle. 'If', though. _If._ I still had no idea whether this world had been passed over or not. But _if_ they hadn't been… Whatever I did do with my swarm, I needed to be discrete with it and I had to make what I did _count_.

For now, I had other options.

My thoughts turned to the visitors center.

I'd neglected to fully plumb its depths during the two days I'd stayed there, instead relying on my swarm to round out my image of the place while clearing out the pests as I didn't need more stuff to try bringing back, but I _definitely_ knew the building better than this bunch. I could lose them in there, it was just a matter of getting there. The lobby by itself ought to work. My insects within the building rose to confirm what I knew: in the lobby alone, I could slip out one exit while letting them see a swarm-clone duck through another. Then coupled with the dim lighting conditions it would be impossible to look too closely at a fleeing figure… It could work and would keep them from suspecting anything.

I would still need to create a distraction to get inside, but there were enough butterflies under my control that they would work well enough.

Working from there I began fleshing things out and parsed through several complications and potential issues that came to mind. And quickly enough, I cobbled together a semi-cohesive Plan B from what I knew of the area and bits of plans that had worked in the past. Nothing comprehensive, but… workable.

There was still the matter of _getting there_ , though, and what to do if these two stopped sandbagging and made a more determined effort into catching up.

But what else was there?

Searching through the paths leading toward the visitors center, I didn't have to look long before settling on a tree that was big enough for me to hide in without being seen from ground level. Not perfect, but good enough. Just have to wait and see how things went.

It was my luck though, that of all places to encounter a prick with a chip on his shoulder, it would be on an island in the middle of nowhere. And of course that they would take such an offense to my intruding on his little hunting trip that he would send his mercenaries after me. His mercenaries that— for the most part —seemed only too happy to get rid of me for him.

Then again, it was their job, and in spite of the circumstances, I couldn't quite begrudge them for following through on that. Money, though... the financial aspect, it was how Lisa had ultimately won, and if push came to shove it was how I could win here.

To what lengths would they go for their payday? Would they put their lives on the line? Would they risk life and limb in chasing— no, that was a stupid question, they were chasing me through an island filled with dinosaurs. But if risking their lives was part of the job, then how about the job itself being put at risk? How interested would they be if their paycheck, presumably the hunter himself, was put at risk? If he suddenly needed medical attention, what lengths would they go to then?

Not very far if the archetype held true. They'd want to tend to their meal ticket.

Though going after the hunter directly… there was still a chance I could end this without resorting to bloodshed, I just needed to give these guys the slip… but still, if the situation somehow degenerated to that point it was a perfectly viable option, and amid the plethora of insects available for me to choose from there was a species of spider that would work quite well. I hadn't gotten a first-hand look at them to be sure, I hadn't needed to at the time, but based on their venom glands I was reasonably certain they were of the Phoneutria genus; the Brazilian wandering spider.

To actually use it though… that could be Plan D? No… F? Yes, Plan F, for F.U.B.A.R: _Fucked up beyond repair_ , because there was really no other way of putting it. Using it was an escalation that couldn't be walked back. It would be effective, but the effects of the venom it produced wouldn't be pretty. Even if they had an antivenin on hand and even _if_ I simply had the spider dry bite… well, that _was_ an option, but would it be severe enough without it?

The neurotoxin that spider produced was no joke. Paralysis and Asphyxiation? It wasn't regarded as being one of the world's most dangerous spiders for _nothing_.

Qualms aside, I diverted a few squadrons of dragonflies to pick up one of the deadly spiders and changed tack toward the visitors center, beginning Plan B. Now it was just up to me to keep ahead and I'd be free and clear.

Although… directing a few local dragonflies into position over my shoulder and among ground cover, I watched the indistinct shapes of the mercenaries flit between blurs representing trees, hanging vines, and other vegetation to visually confirm the jungle was obscuring their line of sight. It was beginning to look like the _getting there_ part of the plan was in danger.

Nearing a leafy palm with wide green pads in the middle of the path I forced my way through the obstruction, forsaking stealth in favor of speed. Previously I had been afforded the luxury of filling the air with my swarm, now that option was no longer available due to keeping my aerial presence minimized. The jungle was still laid bare to me, but refraining from using flying bugs en-masse as I'd grown to do in the short time I'd been here meant the picture of my immediate surroundings lacked... definition.

In a way, it was almost an inverse of how I things had worked back home, or in an urban environment rather; I was more closely observing the positive space rather than filling the negative. It clashed with my better picture of the jungle at large. However, refraining from filling the negative meant an issue quickly became apparent: If I wanted Plan B to work, I needed to separate them and take the marksman out of the chase.

Just a few minutes in and I had enough of my bugs on the big-guy and the marksman that I could track them with ease. And slow going as it was, I was almost done in neutralizing their guns. But the key word there was _almost._ I wasn't working fast enough, at least with the marksman.

Dealing with their sidearms had been a simple matter; a bit of silk stuffed into the safeties integrated into the triggers was as all it took to take them out of commission, with a couple lengths of silk put between the slide and frame for extra measure. The other weapons— the cut-down and elongated Kalashnikovs, and the shotgun —they required a little extra effort to gum up their internal workings.

It was the suppressed rifle that was the problem. In limiting myself it had proven itself troublesome.

The weapon was simply too tightly sealed, with fewer areas for the larger members of my swarm to infiltrate through. It was still fully operational and if something happened I didn't need him taking potshots with it. He had to go.

But how to separate them? Or maybe… maybe it would be better to simply slow them down? Either would give me more time to work on the gun and with enough of a lead, I might be able to switch out with a clone if the jungle was thick enough and go on my way... I could go back to the mountain with the scavenged supplies I'd gathered while they had their little hunt.

Fortunately, after taking the duo over a tangle of exposed, hair-like roots an opening appeared. After both stumbled through the tail end of that mess the marksman began flagging. The big-guys' pace remained steady, chugging along and further defining my trail with little issue. But the marksman's footsteps... in a short order, they became increasingly uneven, to the point the man was almost skipping every couple of steps to avoid putting too much weight on one of his legs. His left leg. A weak link.

An old injury acting up? A recent injury not yet healed? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it was nothing more than a muscle cramp. Whatever the case, it was an opening. More than that though, depending on how strong their sense of comradery was, it gave me an opportunity to end this chase.

In the jungle ahead I began preparing as the hunter and commander vanished beyond the edge of my range. That was one option down, but another had taken its place. Silk was spun, hastily braided together, and pulled into position as my swarm gathered. The giant chicken may have outmassed the tensile strength of the orb-weavers silk, but for an injured man who couldn't've weighed more than a few hundred pounds? It would do just fine.

-I-

Soon enough, I was nearing a small, irregularly shaped clearing where the underbrush had grown tall and gnarled under the open sky. Fog shrouded the area, hanging in the air as a thin, hazy mist created by the morning dew evaporating under the harsh morning sunlight. It made the area look almost like a fairy tale, and in any other circumstance, I'd have stopped to appreciate it.

The mist also made it stupidly humid, and the added moisture in the air hit me like a wall the moment I Ieft the shaded depths of the jungle. I ignored the effect it was having on my sweating as I wove through the mess of green foliage and shaded, moss covered bark, making extra effort to leave an obvious trail through the clearing that peaked upon stomping through a particular pair of thin shrubs with thick trunks and deep-reaching roots.

Keeping true to form the mercenaries doggedly followed my trail, pursuing me into the depths of the clearing without question, their focus no doubt more on their surroundings and tracking me than looking for more mundane dangers. The big-guy charged between the pair of shrubs a few moments later, partially denuding them in the process but leaving enough behind that my insects could pull tight a loose line of silk without being seen.

The marksmen hit it at mid-ankle and went down. _Hard_.

One moment he was running at a good clip and the second his feet were ripped out from under him.

Remarkably, he was quick enough to try and catch himself, but there was only so much you could do when going from running almost full out to zero in less than a second.

A few of my bugs disposed of the evidence at the same time the big-guy ground to a stop and turned back to his fallen comrade. I transitioned to a faster path, gaining ground and disregarding discretion by pushing through the greenery between me and the quickest route I'd found. It ran a bit closer to the drive than I'd've liked, but it was the quickest and—

The big-guy abruptly pivoted and brought his shotgun up, the muzzle tracking me for a moment before snapping just ahead of me. His finger tightened on the trigger and the mechanisms shifted, moving against the webbing some of my bugs were stuck on—

I hit the ground a heartbeat before the striker sluggishly slammed forward and just ahead of me the trunk of a moderately thick palm tree exploded at roughly head height. My eyes fixed on the green wound in the tree as the report of his shot echoed through the jungle.

"Blyat!"

The cry— an expletive, Russian if I remembered right —echoed into the jungle. But I didn't _really_ hear it as pieces of fibrous wood rained down in front of me. My lips twisted into a snarl and I clawed at the ground to haul myself up as the shotgun lowered, the big-guy pulled back on the charging handle and tried to get the bolt to cycle.

Getting a good look at the ragged crater the shotgun had put into the tree as I ran past also put a little more urgency into things. The fact that the dull grey slug at the center of the mess had penetrated a good five inches into the fibrous green wood was… _disconcerting_. It also had a way of rearranging my priorities a bit.

I directed an extra contingent of insects to ensure the weapon was taken out of commission while redirecting the closest wandering spider toward the two as the large man spun and took a knee beside his squadmate.

Let's see if I could rearrange _their_ priorities a bit.

The big-guy all but hovered over the smaller man as he helped him sit up, firing off a rapid exchange that strained the limits of my bugging before shaking his head. Touching at his vest he spoke into his shoulder, the man's voice a deep drawl that fit his size. "Komandir. Tsel' otorvalas' ot presledovaniya, i Yur'yevich ne mozhet prodolzhat' pogonyu."

The big-guy all but hovered over the smaller man as he helped him sit up, firing off a rapid exchange that strained the limits of my bugging before shaking his head. Touching at his vest he spoke into his shoulder, the man's voice a deep drawl that fit his size. "Commander. Target has evaded pursuit and Yurievich is unable to continue.

As I ran, the hunter and commander came back into range, now further up the drive and laden down with the gear the other two had left behind. I heard the big-guys' voice coming from the commanders' vest: Radios. Obvious in retrospect, especially with how the commander must've been using his to signal it was clear to deploy while hanging beneath the helicopter.

The marksman snapped at the big-guy for whatever he'd said but a raised hand silenced the other man as he continued. "Zaprashivayem razresheniye na otmenu presledovaniya i vozvrashcheniye. Priyom."

The marksman snapped at the big-guy for whatever he'd said but a raised hand silenced the other man as he continued. "Requesting permission to terminate pursuit of target and return. Over."

"V chem problema? Priyom."

"What's the issue? Over."

"S yego nogoy, komandir. Priyom," the big-guy said and glanced to the marksman's leg. The exchanges were fast, but concise, like one of the PRT's troopers reporting to the commander of their unit and it only reinforced my assumption that he was their superior.

"It's his leg, Commander. Over," the big-guy said and glanced to the marksman's leg. The exchanges were short, concise, like one of the PRT's troopers reporting to the commander of their unit and it only reinforced my assumption that he was their superior.

The commander remained silent for half a moment, his hand tightening around the grip of his suppressed rifle before relaxing. "Ponyal. Ty v sostoyanii prodolzhat' presledovaniye? Priyom."

The commander remained silent for a moment, his hand tightening around the grip of his suppressed rifle before relaxing. "Understood. Are you still able to continue your pursuit of the target? Over."

The big-guy glanced to the marksman and something unspoken passed between the two. After a second the injured man nodded. "Tak tochno, komandir. Ona peredvigayetsya bystro, uchityvaya mestnost', no ostavlyayet chotkiy sled. Priyom."

The big-guy glanced to the marksman and something unspoken passed between the two. After a second the injured man nodded. "Yes commander, she moves well for the terrain but leaves a clear trail. Over."

The gaunt man snapped to look at the old hunter. "Kak schitayesh'?"

The gaunt man snapped to look at to the old hunter. "Well?"

"On smozhet dognat'?"

"Will he be able to catch up?"

A blink then a sharp nod. "Sam po sebe? Ne somnevayus'. Trudnost' v zveryakh—"

A blink then a sharp nod. "On his own? Easily, of that, I have little doubt. However, there are the animals to consider—"

The old hunter cut him off by slashing his hand through the air, his face twisting into an ugly grimace as his head tilted back and he all but looked down his nose at the other man."Zveri - ne problema, komandir. Na teplovykh snimkakh ot Masrani vidno, chto oni redko poyavlyayutsya v etom rayone ostrova i nikogda ne zaderzhivayutsya nadolgo _, potomu my i vybrali eto mesto dlya lagerya_. Vse budet _v poryadke_ s tvoimi parnyami."

The old hunter cut him off by slashing his hand through the air, his face twisting into an ugly grimace as his head tilted back and he all but looked down his nose at the other man. "The animals aren't a problem, Commander. Masranis' thermal scans show the animals rarely linger in this region of the island for long, and when they _do_ it's never for prolonged periods of time. Your men will be _fine_."

Briefly staring at each other the commander leaned into the radio. "Prikaz prodolzhat' presledovaniye. Mladshemu leytenantu Yur'yevichu derzhat' pozitsiyu do tekh por, poka tsel' ne likvidirovana, i tvoyego vozvrashcheniya, libo do vosstanovleniya podvizhnosti. Konets svyazi."

Briefly staring at each other the commander leaned into the radio. "Orders are to continue the pursuit. Junior lieutenant Yurievich is to hold position until the target is eliminated and you may return or he is able to regain mobility. Out."

Emerging from the bushes behind them the wandering spider crept forward, its body hidden behind the marksmans'.

Sharing a look the marksman shook his head. "Etogo ne bylo v kontrakte, Semyon. My dolzhny byli tol'ko okhotit'sya na _zverey_."

Sharing a look the marksman shook his head. "This wasn't covered in the contract, Semyon. We were just here to hunt _animals_."

The larger man's head dipped once in a drawn-out nod before clapping a hand on the marksmans' shoulder. "Ya znayu, druzhishche, ya znayu. Otdykhay i derzhi ukho vostro, ya skoro vernus'."

The larger man's head dipped once in a drawn-out nod before clapping a hand on the marksmans' shoulder. "I know my friend, I know. Rest and keep your wits, I will be back soon."

I could only guess what had been said in the exchange, though certain parts of the conversations did stand out curiously enough. But the big-guy suddenly standing and slinging the shotgun over his shoulder beside the cut-down Kalashnikov then taking off down the trail I'd left at a near sprint was context enough: The hunt was still on.

Leaving his partner out here, alone... I could still have the spider bite the marksman, but without him there the impact would be lessened and— I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry and I watched my now sole pursuer move faster than they the two of them had been moving at any point prior… almost as if he'd been moderating his pace beyond keeping their stamina up… or unless my assumption had been off, and they'd only been going slow on account of the marksman… the marksman who was now no longer there to slow him down.

 _Fuck_.

I jumped a small log and hurtled myself down an even faster path, one with fewer obstructions while taking less care to move around the bits of foliage that got in my way and— The big-guy stopped and cocked his head, _listening_ , then with little warning he turned off the trail I'd taken and my breath caught as he tore through a tangled swath of jungle I'd had to go around to get past.

In a scant few seconds a full third of my lead disappeared in a fraction of the time it'd taken to gain it. Just in case it wasn't a fluke I switched paths again, moving to one that was slightly slower but had rougher terrain.

It wasn't a fluke. Twice more he cut through the jungle, each time shaving off another chunk of my lead and after the second time I kept close track of his movements; measuring his stride distance, the time between strides, and other factors to monitor just how _much_ ground I was losing. The answer was too much too quickly. _Far_ too quickly.

And checking how much further I had to go to the visitors center… nope, Plan B wasn't happening. The tree, however... yes, but I couldn't let him see me deploying my flight pack. If this place hadn't been touched by Scions' rampage, or if they didn't have parahumans, then _that_ would make people sit up and pay attention. But I needed to do something or else he _would_ catch up and be able to force a confrontation.

I began ranging out ahead, looking for a leg up. Even as I did so, though, I checked on other contingencies as my lead began disappearing and through the various dragonflies keeping apace I glimpsed a flicker of his shape moving through the foliage. Gaining. Getting closer and closer… Fuck me this was really happening. I'd separated them, but where had _that_ gotten me?

Maybe just biting the hunter would work, but— no, _of course_ , it wouldn't be that simple, _of course_ , the wandering spider had… _wandered_ off, either that or it had been noticed and removed. Whatever the case it would still take at least a minute or two to get a new one into position. Though even then I'd likely need it to actually bite and inject, I'd need a strong reaction otherwise what reason would the commander have little reason to recall the big-guy and the marksman? However with his age… _fuck._

Meanwhile, the marksman had just gotten back on his feet. With the aid of his rifle as a crutch, yes, but to his feet nonetheless. Far quicker than I'd have liked.

Yet another complication in a growing line of complications.

His head swiveled to keep an eye on his surroundings as he stabilized and touched at various points on his person: the elongated Kalashnikov on his back, thigh holster, and several areas of his vest indicated he was checking over his kit. And just as quickly as he'd risen he was standing _without_ the aid of his rifle with only the absent, deep kneading of his upper left thigh and a sharp shift in his breathing whenever he pressed to indicate that anything was wrong.

That… wasn't good. If he rejoined the chase, well... checking the narrowing gap between me and the big-guy, with a plan of action still up in the air… that _really_ wouldn't be good. And doubly so if he had some sort of painkiller or adrenaline nasal spray as a number of PRT troopers had been caught using during my time under Tecton… no, I couldn't _let him_ continue.

There was still the wandering spider, but I needed something more immediate… Well, he _had_ been awfully jumpy back at the drive, hadn't he? And alone in the jungle, by himself with no one else to corroborate what he saw… Yes, I could keep him _plenty_ occupied. I could give him as many targets as he wanted.

Quickly dispersing my swarm into several masses scattered throughout the clearing, I formed a swarm-clone opposite the marksman and stuck its head out above the plants. It wasn't perfect, but unlike the commanders' rifle, the marksman didn't have a scope on his gun and with any luck, he would assume 'I' was checking to see if the coast was clear.

If only the reality of the situation were as promising as that bit of fiction.

The marksman abruptly froze in his ministrations and ducked into the bushes, taking a knee while resting his elbow on the other, he brought the rifle to his shoulder put the crosshairs on my simulacrum.

He inhaled and his chest swelled with held breath, the muzzle tracking my simulacrum as I moved it to another 'hiding' spot— He exhaled and his finger tightened on the trigger. The rifle coughed, the bolt clacked as the shell casing ejected and a new round was loaded without issue, and between heartbeats, a line of insects making up the clones head died. Headshot.

I collapsed the swarm-clone as if it were a skyscraper and when it dropped out of sight I dispersed its constituent insects into several other concentrations.

Now, to see if he would take the bait... _"Will you walk into my parlour?"_ said the Spider to the Fly.

Keeping the rifle pulled tight against his shoulder, he pressed a hand to his radio while keeping an eye on the position the swarm-clone had gone down. "Yur'yevich na svyazi. Tsel' porazhena. Priyom."

Keeping the rifle pulled tight against his shoulder, he pressed a hand to his radio while keeping an eye on the position the swarm-clone had gone down. "Yur'yevich here, target down. Over."

The big-guys radio squawked, the sound garbled due to the background noise of his gear moving about from his running and he slowed to answer. It was an opening, and taking it for what it was and put on as much speed as I could as a tentative plan started coming together. It still involved using a clone to lead him off on a wild goose chase, and I'd have to hide while he passed me by, but it was something.

Starting, he glanced over his shoulder, back the way he'd come before staring ahead for a long moment. "Yur'yevich, povtori tsel' porazhena. Nakhozhus' v presledovanii tseli s podtverzhdennym vizual'nym kontaktom. Dvizhetsya po napravleniyu yug/yugo-vostok v storonu zdaniya upravleniya parkom. Podtverdi status tseli i bud' ostorozhney, tsel' mozhet byt' ne odna. Priyom."

Starting, he glanced over his shoulder, back the way he'd come before staring ahead for a long moment. "Repeat. Am in pursuit of the target with confirmed visual contact. Heading is south/south-east toward park control building. Confirm the target is down and be on guard, the target may not be alone. Over."

The marksman stiffened and stared at the area my swarm-clone had fallen before nodding once. "Yur'yevich prinyal. Podtverzhu status tseli. Konets svyazi."

The marksman stiffened and stared at the area 'I' had fallen before nodding once. "Acknowledged. Will confirm the status of the target. Yurievich out."

And with that the big-guy picked up his pace once more, communication evidently concluding between the two and when he pushed through a patch of ferns laced with leaf cutter ants I was able to transfer a fair number onto his person. Scattering them across his uniform I ordered a few to bite through the material. However, indistinct cursing and a few retaliatory slaps aside, the bites from the warriors did little to stop or even slow the man all that much. But it _did_ slow him.

Additionally, the situation with the marksman seemed to be proceeding nicely. He made his way through the clearing, his progress slowed in order to keep an eye his surroundings. Unnecessary, as save for a number of the little chicken-sized dinos, there was nothing of any significant size moving about within range of my swarm. But I wasn't going to complain.

Before long he stood over where my swarm clone had been and his rifle came up in an instant, panning over the surrounding jungle, across the clearing, and alighting on even the smallest bit of foliage that might be large enough for someone to hide within. Quickly though, he became almost frantic looking for what _should_ have been there, and through a small jumping spider on his neck, I felt his carotid artery throb. Off-balanced, panicked… that was good. Just need to keep him distracted until it was too late for him to help.

He looked at the ground while trying to keep an eye on his surroundings, no doubt looking for tracks in the dirt. I let him continue like that for a few moments more before setting my swarm to a low whisper. Little more than white noise, yes, but to a soldier in the depths of the jungle, with the body of a person, they'd just shot nowhere in sight? It was the kind of thing that could make one's hair stand on end. And then there were the Cicadas and their _scream._ They sang as one with the rest of the chorus I had at my fingertips, creating the death kneel of _dozens_ within the surrounding foliage.

In a flash, his back was against a tree and as he scanned over his surroundings and his heart beat even faster.

A few of the massed insects pulled at lines of silk strung out among to ferns and other lightweight foliage throughout the clearing, making them rustle and shake; faint, and just enough for it to be at the edge of hearing under the screaming. He didn't notice or didn't hear it.

On a whim I formed a swarm-clone from one of the clusters and ended the scream, replacing it with a slightly louder whispering to disguise the buzz from the clone and within moments he detached from the tree and put his sights on the clone. But he didn't shoot. Good trigger discipline? Let's see how long that lasted.

"Vykhodi. Yesli vyydesh' samostoyatel'no, my mozhem vse reshit' mirno." The words came with a tone of authority (likely an order of some kind) but his body language was less certain. He took a step to the right as if it would give him a better line of sight to the obscured figure.

"Come out now, if you come out we can settle this peacefully." The words came with a tone of authority (likely an order of some kind) but his body language was less certain. He took a step to the right as if it would give him a better line of sight to the obscured figure.

"Yesli vyydesh'—" He cut himself off and was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat, "Ef you come ot, I promise vill not shoot." The words came slowly, the broken syntax of someone unfamiliar with the language, but clear enough in spite of an Eastern-European accent that also drew out his pronunciation. "I geeve vord, da? On scout honor."

"If you come out—" He cut himself off and was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat, "Ef you come ot, I promise vill not shoot." The words came slowly, the broken syntax of someone unfamiliar with the language, but clear enough in spite of an Eastern-European accent that also drew out his pronunciation. "I geeve vord, da? On scout honor."

Oh? He decided he speaks English _now_? And he gives his word that he won't shoot? Scout's honor? Sure...

He'd spoken English though. His words reverberated and the hope for answers reared its head. My teeth ground and my focus narrowed onto him while conflicting plans clashed. Common sense warred with the need to _know._.. Hope, it really was worse than despair.

The blase way in which I'd accepted my arrival and internment on this island crumbled in the face of getting actual, substantive answers as to what might be out in the wider world. Or worlds, as it may be. The hope of learning what had happened… And with little more than that vague concept, my other plans crumbled as a new one formed. If he spoke English, he could answer questions. And if he didn't know anything, then he could translate for the others.

Fortunately, common sense and my own self-preservation instincts trumped doing anything... rash. Or _too_ rash. I still couldn't risk using my swarm, but I'd need some way of coercing cooperation from them. I had my knife, and my baton, but they held little in the way of being an implicit threat unless I used them.

Through thousands of eyes, I looked to the pistols holstered on their thighs.

A gun in the hand, though… that held a far more direct and implicit impression, and theirs were held in place with just a snap strap. Could I pull that with just my swarm? Probably. But could I do it without being noticed? Doubtful. If wanted one, I'd need to get it for myself... which would mean getting close and _taking it_.

There was an opening in the jungle— though too small to be a clearing —not too far ahead, where beneath a loose layer of topsoil the ground was firm and compact, with the lower foliage of the few trees within it denuded and a ring of fairly dense vegetation at the perimeter.

Some dinosaurs had probably settled there or something.

I turned onto a different path while directing my swarm to prepare things in order to keep this from being an _entirely_ terrible idea.

Also, now that I was on a new timetable I needed to keep the marksman busy. So with that in mind, I let my silence end.

My response was an inarticulate babble of harsh tones before I multiplied the volume of the white noise to the level of a dull roar. The sound was incoherent gibberish, but the loudness of it would've been like being hit with a physical force and forming another clone at the periphery of his field of vision I cut off the sound and had it step into view.

The muzzle snapped onto it and coughed twice. Two shots to the chest... and so much for trigger discipline. I left the clone standing in the shadow though, as if it was staring and created a conversation of whispers in the surrounding trees.

The marksman just stared at the clone and swallowed.

Entering the final stretch to open area I quickly gauged the distance from me to the clearing and the big-guy to me, and near a tall tree root, I feigned a cry of pain. Then jumping off the root, I stomped down upon landing to give the impression I'd stumbled and slowed my pace with a limp. One foot forward, skip, one foot forward, skip.

With my arm as it was I'd take every advantage I could, and like a shark smelling blood in the water, my pursuer closed the distance even further.

Slowing might not have been entirely necessary, but it gave me time to catch my breath and keep things proceeding apace back at the clearing.

My heartbeat quickened, becoming a steady rhythm in my ears as my breathing leveled out somewhat and I ran things over in my head. What to do when, checking that everything was in place, making sure contingencies were ready, and overall making sure I didn't mess up. Though the planning was haphazard, my preparations rushed.

I absently loosened my control of the insects making up clone, just enough to let its consistency waver before re-solidifying it into a human form. The marksman finally moved again, his head jerking in a single, little shake. "Pomereshchilos..."

I absently loosened my control the bugs making up clone, just enough to let its consistency waver before re-solidifying it into a human form. The marksman finally moved again, his head jerking in a single, little shake. "Just imagining it."

Distantly, while checking that silk lines were being put in place and that I had enough bugs for my plan to work, I recognized the unfamiliar word as a denial, a rejection of the reality I was creating. The swarm-chorus babbled back in response, yelled, with the noise closer to a dozen voices speaking at once rather than nonsense before sounding off one by one.

The big-guy came around a stand of small, vine-entangled trees and for a few seconds, he was within line of sight before the path bent. In that moment I exaggerated my limp even further and he began closing even faster.

Twenty feet to the bushes, forty feet to him. One foot forward, skip, one foot forward, skip. Fifteen feet to the bushes, thirty feet to him.

Ten feet to the bushes, twenty feet to him. One foot forward, skip, one foot forward, skip. Five feet to the pushes, Ten feet to him.

My heart was a drumbeat in my ears, my muscles taut in anticipation and my body humming like a live wire as he dogged my footsteps and came to loom over me.

His arm shot out in a hasty grab as I barreled toward the bushes ringing the clearing, right hand skimming over my head as I ducked down and brought my arm up to protect my face. I just barely made out a frustrated grunt a moment before I crashed into the bush.

—

Many thanks go to Evil Atlas and Darkarma for taking the time to help me beat this into something somewhat workable with AoD being a big help with the translations.


	13. Chapter 13

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #03.4

A/N: -_- ... Ahem... EXTRA EXTRA HELPINGS ARE THROWN THROUGH DOOR!

Again, mileage may vary.

—

I broke through into the clearing and in a heartbeat, the bush all but came apart as the large form of my opponent crashed through after me, barely an arms length behind. He reached again, but this time with both arms. Going low to bring me down and he put on a burst of speed and dove for me.

Feigning a stumble to the left I sidestepped him, moving aside just enough that his tackle was wasted; his passing and the wind it generated only managing to ruffle my poncho and reveal my stump. He hit the ground and rolled, moving with practiced ease despite the weapons on his back, then popped up, loose leaves and soil scattering around him when he spun to face me.

I widened my eyes in mock surprise as I neared him. His eyes fixed on me in turn, not quite a glare but not focused. Gaze searching, I could almost see the gears turning while he assessed me before his attention shifted; zeroing on my right side, where my arm had once been, then to my left leg, to my fake hobble.

It was an effort keeping my expression schooled into panic. Because of a literal misstep, I'd given him a legitimate weak point to go after, but like _hell_ was I going to let myself be some easy mark.

My heart pounded, roaring in my ears like a drum, almost hampering my concentration as I dug my feet into the loose topsoil and dragged them. With two steps I changed my footing and continued forward in a loose, stumbling gait that kicked up bits of leaves and rich brown soil. Each movement insecure and telegraphed to lull him into a false sense of security while I half reached my arm out as if to catch myself.

A clumsy feint, but a necessary one to bring my speed down to a more manageable level.

His feet spread and his arms went wide; a grappling stance, stable, good for grabbing someone and getting them onto the ground. He himself was telegraphing, but either he had seen through my ploy and was doing it intentionally, or he was taking the bait and was that confident in his ability to bring me down. Just feet away he stepped forward and his right hand reached toward me while the other went low, a move reminiscent of a judo grab, closing… closing… I ducked and shot toward him, putting my weight forward in spite of an awkward center of gravity to slip under his arm and for an instant, we were near enough he could've wrung my neck… could've, but he never had a chance.

My eyes snapped up, meeting his pale blues set beneath a heavy brow, and in the span of a moment multiple emotions flashed across them: shock and surprise, among others… expressive eyes. Then they narrowed and determination took hold, the bulk of his larger body moving to follow me. But I was too close, much closer than he'd prepared for and moving quicker than my feigned limp implied.

It was a dance. One that without the swarm to help choreograph it, I'd never have been able to pull off or even attempt. But riding high on adrenaline, my body practically humming, I moved how I'd trained to. With a set goal in mind to focus me... moving was easy as _breathing_.

Putting myself within his guard, I put my left foot forward and pivoted back clockwise on my heel to spin under his outstretched arm where. He could do little in the fractions of a second I was there. With just an inches between us though, _I_ could do plenty: My hand brushed against his thigh as I turned around his body, the spin putting my hand into position for my fingers to brush against his BDU's and the stiff material of his holster before hooking on the strap that held his sidearm in place. My turn continued and pulled the snap free, undoing it with a minute _click._

 _That's step one_ , I thought with only a little bitterness.

I was _so_ close. Had I had my other arm this charade would've been a matter of simply unsnapping the strap with one hand, grabbing the weapon with the other, and escaping into the depths of the jungle. Simple, _easy even…_ but _simple_ was a thing of the past. I'd been sloth due in part to the weather, only scraping the surface of issues its absence would cause me, but I had little doubt it would complicate the simplest of things in the coming days, weeks, months or… or until I found something to drive me forward I suppose.

One step at a time though.

Slipping out of his shadow I reached back, my hand moving back beneath my poncho. The moment my hand slipped into my storage compartment beneath my back armor, I sent my swarm out, emerging from the trees around the marksman in a pale imitation of Brian's darkness. Through the spider I felt the man's pulse fluttered as he swallowed, his hands tightening around the rifle as he stepped back. He shook his head, muttering something as the big-guy began turning to follow me and the textured metal grip of my baton filled my hand.

I drew it out and swung, finding the release button as I pivoted on my right foot: My target, a mite at the base of his thumb.

With a series of sharp _clacks_ my baton extended, telescoping out to its full length as the massive man reached for me with his right hand. His eyes locked onto the black length of metal suddenly encroaching on his personal space and tried to pull back, but too late. The metal ball at the tip connected with his hand and something gave with a sickening _squelch_.

Disable and Disarm.

 _That'll leave him disarmed_ , I observed, eying his outward bent thumb.

 _Now there was just to keep him from following!_ I stopped my spin and kicked out, the heel of my boot connecting square with the side of his knee pad.

 _And that'll disable_ —

His leg folded, but too smoothly. The big-guy twisted, mitigating the damage from my kick while my foot drove his knee into the ground and making me overextend. I tried to abort, but before I could get clear his leg snapped shut, his boot touching his thigh and locking my foot in place. His intact off hand snapped around to clamp onto my ankle and made me aware of just how badly I'd screwed up. A sharp yank made me regret it.

Blood rushed to my head as the world turned sideways and the swarm-clones staring at the marksman came apart; the first clone stepping behind a tree while the second collapsed into the ground and dispersed among the black tide as if it were oil. The marksman's rifle lowered until it hung loosely, the muzzle just above the ground.

I hit the ground side on, my stump taking the brunt of the impact and aggravating whatever damage had been done by my earlier fall. I kicked out, but the vice around my ankle jerked and the blow went wide as I fell onto my back and my head bounced off the ground. He drug me around and my glasses slipped down, my vision blurring and pinned my leg beneath his knee before I could kick again. Suddenly he released my ankle and loomed over me— my throat closed, his forearm pressing down on my windpipe, _choking me._

I blinked, eyes squeezing together before opening wide as my mouth opened and I tried to draw breath. My heartbeat rose to a thunderous roar in my ears as adrenaline flooded into my bloodstream and the world slowed. His face inched closer as he pressed down a little more, face less than a foot away, grim resolve etched into his features.

It was hard to think, but in the heat of the moment I called out and my swarm answered. More leafcutter ants bit through his uniform and mandibles dug into his flesh over and over again; though the strength of their bite was dulled by his clothing. The pressure on my throat abated, clarity rushed back as he pulled back and I considered faking unconsciousness for a moment before discarding the notion. I couldn't count on him falling for that. This guy was a professional, not a psychotic Tinker.

I dropped the baton and it hung from my wrist by its lanyard. I punched him in the side twice, but eliciting little more than a faint grunt I reached for his holster; my fingers straining to touch the back of the slide. They brushed over the grip, the slide, the rear sight— Hooking my fingernails on the protrusion I managed to pull it out a bit while butterflies flew overhead carrying lengths of silk around branches and termites chewed through dead wood.

My hand brushed his hip and he jerked away, putting the pistol out of reach with one leg going between mine as while shifting position. He lifted off a bit to leverage his weight and darkness crept in at the edge of my vision. My swarm roared, taking flight as his waist brushed my thigh and— _He wasn't wearing a cup_.

My knee smashed into his groin hard enough that it moved him and his forearm let up again. Again and he groaned, lips pulling back in a grimace as a pained noise leaked between clenched teeth.

His other arm smashed down, just below my stump as I jerked it away and— he pulled off a little more and air! Sweet glorious air! I breathed deep and cool air flooded into my lungs but a burn followed, igniting in my throat as if I'd swallowed sandpaper drenched in gasoline and lit on fire.

Teeth still bared he bore down on me, and in spite of the blows he'd taken to his manhood, his arm began pressing down once more. It was a hesitant hold though, he didn't commit all his weight to crushing my throat. He'd left me room to breathe, if barely, and a bit of room to maneuver. It was an inch I could turn into a mile. I kicked my heels, digging through into the soft topsoil and into the firm, compact dirt beneath. Again and I kicked myself far enough I was able to pull my legs into my stomach and mule kick into his chest.

It was like kicking against a _rock_ , but something seemed to give beneath my feet. He jerked, lifted up, and I rolled away as his elbow came down.

I not-quite bounced back up some ways away and raised my baton, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as he rose to his feet. Although, swaying might have been more accurate. I was just a little disoriented. Absently, I adjusted my glasses and watched the big-guy stand as the world came back into focus. He was wide open and stood somewhat bow-legged. I wasn't in the best of shape either, and the shadowed glower he sent my way dissuaded me from attempting anything just yet. Instead, I used the pause to catch my breath while he brushed away the leafcutters, muttering in what I was increasingly sure was Russian.

However, even as he and I recovered, my attention was drawn to what the marksman was doing. That was to say, doing nothing but staring at the ground and murmuring to himself. I suppressed a grimace as I monitored him, something about what I was seeing that felt… _unsettling_.

I brushed it off. So long as he didn't interfere what he did or didn't do was of little matter, and as the big-guy's back straightened my attention shifted back to him. I stared back when his eyes locked on me, a slight grimace on his lips as he shook his head. "I try make quick for you girl," he rumbled, his voice a deep timbre. "Would be clean, no blood to draw animals. Give burial. But that not—" Breath catching, he winced and shifted his hips. "That not very nice."

I blinked. Well, that was… nice of him? But more importantly, he now represented someone else I could question.

Before I had a chance to form a response, maybe negotiate or try de-escalate, he suddenly grabbed the hand I'd smashed with my baton. Gripping the outward bent thumb he aligned he arm parallel and— realizing what he was doing and I leapt forward as he shoved the thumb in back into place, though even as I closed I was too far to do anything. Making a quick fist, his hand flashed down to his hip. In a move almost fit for a western he drew his sidearm and aimed from the hip. I stared down the barrel at the center of an odd gear component as it centered on me.

The gun was deactivated, I'd locked it up as best I could... but then, so had his shotgun.

I dove to the right, rolling and forcing to him to adjust his aim, giving me time to pop up and slip my arm into my poncho and cover my face while closing the distance between us. It wasn't armor, but it was something. His finger tightened, the mechanism moved, but the trigger clicked impotently. Pivoting on my toes I dropped my poncho and shot toward him, baton arcing through the air as I swung for his temple.

He jerked back, ducking away to avoid the blow and dropping the pistol his hand moved to his back. I followed as he retreated, briefly pausing to kick the gun away— though in reality to where I needed it —while rearing back for an exaggerated follow-up swing.

Everything was in position now. But with his speed I didn't fancy turning my back to him, I just needed a few moments more to break off safely. Reaching to his hip his fingers quick, their movements deft and practiced as he touched at webbing, snapping the buttons on flap holding his… spade?

Pulling the wooden-handled tool from its holder he knocked the baton aside and swung as I neared. He was too far away to reach me, though, and shifting my feet I— His grip loosened and the blade slid out, extending his reach. The point of the small shovel slashed across my midsection, tracing an invisible line across the dull yellow-grey of my poncho. My eyes followed the spade as it arched back and caught on its gleaming sharp edge.

His feet parted a spray of dark soil and he leaned forward while adjusting his grip hold the spade at the base of the blade; his hand wrapped around the sleeve connecting it to the handle. His offhand came up and he held it forward while bringing up the spade as one would a knife while using a saber grip. Except it was bigger, and heavier, and longer...

And it looked like he knew full well how to use it as such.

This wasn't good.

With little recourse, I retreated, and he followed.

I was on the back foot now literally, keeping away as he made probing jabs and parrying stabs that got a little too close. I was forced to keep backing away, staying out of range while looking for a way out and weighing whether to call on my butterflies and end this permanently. I held off though, simply keeping away from him and holding off— He lunged forward, getting within striking range while I was in mid-step and the spade went up. Again his grip loosened, the blade sliding out in an instant, then brought it down in a sharp downward strike— like it was a _hatchet_.

My left foot jerked back in an arc and I turned sideways on, my stump toward him, and the blade slashed past. He flowed into a follow-up, turning toward me as I stepped back while his fingers twirled, the short wooden shaft spinning and his grip reversing in a flash.

He stepped forward and reached across himself, holding the blade at its base with the blade in line with his arm he stabbed down at my neck. This close, the sharpened edge gleamed among dozens of little wear marks.

Death by a glorified gardening tool? _Fuck that_ , I thought.

Blood pulsing and rushing in my ears, deafening me to the world, I stepped into his swing and threw my weight forward. My left shoulder _smashed_ into his chest, body checking him, while I threw out my arm to catch his swing before it could connect and— Catching his wrist on my _stump_ , I leaned forward and the blade scraped down my upper back as his lips moved and blinked at my stump. My bicep began burning almost immediately under the strain of holding his arm up as I stuck my leg between his. He pinched his thighs, his knees knocked together to block and upward strike, no doubt leery of another blow to the groin. The precaution worked against him, shifting his center of gravity, and hooking his ankle with mine, I _pushed_.

It took a hard shove to destabilize him, and another to overbalance him even as he realized what was happening. But as he fell away he kept going. His grip on the spade reversed and he pulled while falling, hooking the back of my neck with the back edge of the blade.

The spade dug deep as his weight added to the strength of his pull and he almost dragged me down with him. The reinforced collar of my costume saved me, but it hurt and turning my neck as I ducked away to unhook myself sent shooting pains down the side of my neck. The tool dragged against my back before passing harmlessly through my hair with a sharp tugging in my scalp— nothing but hairs torn out at the root. A small cost for what could've happened.

But the way he'd tried hooking my neck like that…a chill ran down my spine and the dampness in my armpits and sweat soaking into my bra became more pronounced. I made tracks despite him only just standing before glancing behind him to the pistol, then to the spade again. He could've torn out my carotid with that move. He could've killed me.

Between heartbeats, the realization struck home and my teeth practically _creaked_ as they ground together. The fear evaporated, the cold replaced by the hot flush of indignant rage: rage at myself for underestimating him, rage at the hunter, rage at the whole _clusterfuck_ of a situation.

 _They_ had started this! _They_ had shot first! All I had wanted was to ask a few questions but instead, they _shoot at me_. Instead of answers, I had to deal with to this _bullshit!_

Almost seething inside, it was a struggle to maintain a placid facade, to preserve my composure and control. I breathed out slowly, watched the mercenary as warmth suffused through my aching limbs, forcing myself to _calm down_ lest I do anything _brash_.

That was twice now though, _twice_ where I'd be dead were it not for my costume… Restraint was well and good, discretion until I knew more was simply being _prudent..._ but there _wouldn't_ be a third time _._ My knife or his knife, a silk noose lowered from the canopy with a falling branch as a counterweight, a garrote, or even a direct attack with my swarm— _whatever it took_. If I wasn't leaving immediately afterward, then he wouldn't be leaving at all and damn the consequences.

However, even as I contemplated his murder, he was slow to re-engage. He simply stood there, watching… waiting? Being more cautious perhaps? I took a tentative step to the right, toward the pistol and my exit, he stepped left. I stepped right again and he stepped left again, mirroring... _Circling_.

Was he waiting for me to make the first move? Recuperating? Unlikely, as his chest steadily rose and fell and pulse steady.

Or... perhaps he was re-assessing? Lips pursing I narrowed my eyes. I'd surprised him twice now by my count; first with my feigned limp, and the second with blocking his blow. Although I'd _been_ reaching with my forearm, not my stump. That I actually caught him at all was a minor miracle. And hell, if his swing had connected he might very well have broken my collarbone in two.

So could that be it? Maybe he was hesitant after being caught off guard one time too many?

Though it may have just been my imagination, for a split-second I could've sworn his eyes lingered on my right side. That was... unfortunate, if so, but understandable. Though with any luck he was simply stalling, thinking his partner would catch up soon. But unfortunately for _him_ , the marksman was all the way back at the clearing and… and what the hell was he _doing?_

The marksman's muttering tapered off and his heartbeat had slowed. Not to normal levels, not even close, but nowhere near as frantic as it'd been. Whatever he'd been muttering it seemed to have calmed him down.

Calm though? The edge of the spade caught the light, glinting at me. I rolled my fingers, adjusting the grip on the baton.

Yeah, he was calming down, which was something I did _not_ need that right now, especially while being occupied with the not so minor concern of getting brained or bludgeoned to death with a shovel. My suit could take the blow if it connected, sure, doubly so if he hit my armor plates, but the force of it had to go _somewhere._

And of course there was how familiar he seemed with swinging the damn thing, not the work of an amateur. It was a shovel, though, not a knife, yet he was using it as such and its odd shape was turning out to be stupidly versatile in his hands. Christ, I'd have _preferred_ it if he used a knife! At least then I would be going up against something I was more familiar with and not a fucking _shovel._

I inhaled and breathed out through my nose. But I was just getting worked up over a non-issue. He was an obstacle, and the spade a complication, but everything was in place, I just needed to grab the pistol and _go_. Drop the branch on him? Could work, there wasn't much wood left for the termites to chew through. I'd need to get him into position, but it could work. Though for now, simply circling seemed to be working just fine.

With that in mind, I took another step to the right, now some twelve feet from the pistol and my escape route.

Meanwhile, the bugs I'd massed in throughout the jungle surrounding the marksman rose up, forming into a series of clones while even more worked to make the foliage rustle at their appearance. I took another step toward the gun, almost putting the big-guy and I at equal distance to it as the marksman's head rose. He stared at the assembled figures, then turning to take in all the clones scattered about… his pulse began to slow.

What?

The rifle lowered as the marksman held it loosely in one hand while the other went to his vest. Unbuttoning a breast pocket his fingers extricated a rectangular, rattling container that I'd figured tic-tacs'. But now... he put it to his mouth and shook,, the container rattling a bit before he replaced the pocket, he glanced around before behind him and retrieved one of the two canteens at the small of his back and took a short swig. Replacing it was well and took up his rifle… but he just stood there, staring.

The unsettling feeling returned as he just stood there and I stepped right again, needing to do _something_. A moment later the marksman put a hand to his radio and leaned in.

" _Yur'yevich na svyazi. Tsel' ne podtverzhdena, vozrashchayus' k presledovaniyu. Priyom_."

"Yurievich here, negative contact. Returning to pursuit. Over."

My eyes snapped to the big-guys radio as the words came out then back to his face and his head cocked to the side.

"O? Mne kazhetsya, ty ponimayesh' russkiy luchshe, chem pytayesh'sya pokazat', ne tak li, devon'ka?" Keeping his eyes on me his free hand moved with intentional slowness to the radio and my hand tightened around the knurled metal grip until it tingled.

"Oh? I think you understand Russian more than you let on, don't you little girl." Keeping his eyes on me his free hand moved with intentional slowness to the radio and my hand tightened around the knurled metal grip until it tingled.

He was _baiting me._

Touching at the radio he tilted his head toward the device while still staring at me. I wanted to keep him from responding if only to give myself more time, but a lack of response could be even more conspicuous and backfire. The marksman was already on his way and I had at least two minutes... two minutes plenty of time.

But _still._

He touched the radio and spoke. "Mikhaylov na svyazi. Nakhozhus' v kontakte s tsel'yu primerno v chetverti kilometra na yugo-yugo-zapad v storonu zdaniya upravleniya. Priyom."

He touched the radio and spoke. "Mikhailov here, I am currently engaging target approximately a quarter kilometer due south south-west toward control building. Over."

The commander and his employer exchanged looks but continued walking up the drive. On the other end of the spectrum the marksman perked up, his back straightening and he leaned in to answer with what must've been an affirmative. There, the backup was on his way and now I was on the clock. He began picking his way through the clearing even faster and dispersed dispersing my clones as he went. Not that it seemed to have mattered much, he barely gave them a sideways glance and seemed content to consciously ignore them as they disappeared.

Why though? What would make a person ignore something as abnormal as the presence of my clones? And furthermore, what would cause them to not even react when they disappeared? Why would— Unless he thought they might not have been there at all. Unless he thought they were in his head.

Recalling what he'd done, the tic-tac container stood out. For a mercenary to have something like that on them, something that might make unwanted noise… and then chasing it with water from the canteen. Was he taking medication? If that's what had been in the container… it would make sense. Someone conscious of their issues would want their meds on hand in case they had an episode, and depending on what kind of combat he'd seen…

My clones were faceless, but to someone with some sort of battle trauma? What had they looked like to him? I could've been bringing his nightmares to life for all I knew. A sour taste rose up in my throat as what I'd been doing sunk in. It wasn't quite guilt, but close enough.

I hadn't been doing it for kicks— they _were_ trying to kill me _._

But what _had_ I been trying to do?

I'd just been trying to keep him occupied, but what I'd been doing had gone beyond a distraction. Was that really what I'd been doing, though? Thinking back make actions were more akin to pulling at a loose thread and seeing if he would unravel… And all so I didn't have to deal with him? So he wasn't a complication? And for what reason, because it was _expedient_?

My stomach churned as my mind drew connections and parallels, imagined or otherwise.

Irrational as it was I cut all swarm activity around the man; dissipating the bugs into the surrounding foliage and silencing the chorus. It barely garnered a sideways glance and _that reaction..._ That was chilling, more so than the touch of the spade on my neck. Enemy or no, this was just his job, and trying to kill me aside his actions hadn't warranted… _that_. I didn't need to go as far as I did, yet I had, and without a moment's hesitation...

I swallowed.

 _One bad day_ , I reminded myself; my mind unconsciously recalling the darkness, the rancid, cloying smell of rotting blood and the claustrophobic closeness of walls, the piercing ache in my hands from beating at the metal door and the hoarseness in my throat... All it took was one bad day.

I didn't know what the situation was like, now with Scion dead, but that didn't really matter. It was the principal of it, and whatever the case may be I _wasn't_ going to be that bad day… no matter if it made things more difficult for me.

But that said, the marksman was coming and I was still here. I didn't have time for introspection.

The tip of my baton snapped up and I sidestepped again. Not much further though, I just needed to grab the gun and go. Easy, clean, _simple._

Even as the next steps played out in my mind, the large mercenary threw a spanner into the works and stepped left; reversing direction. Reacting I mirrored, stepping left to keep the distance and play along, seeing if he was simply testing me. However, when he stepped left again his eyes flicked to the discarded pistol.

Crap. He glanced back, we made eye contact, and after a pregnant pause, I lunged for the gun with him moving less than a heartbeat later. He was still closer though, his legs longer, and when it was little more than three strides away he put himself between the pistol and I.

Retreat and reassess? But that would mean giving up the initiative, and if he'd really realized I was after the pistol then he could _easily_ complicate things. He could stall long enough for the marksman to get here... No, there was nothing to do about it. I'd just have to go through him.

Continuing forward the distance between us disappeared and in a split second his stance shifted; feet spreading, he simultaneously crouched and rose on his toes. Outwardly, little changed as his hands rose and the spade pointed toward me, but his movement betrayed that notion and he rocked back and forth on his toes; left, right, left, right. A minute sway that others would've missed.

He appeared stationary when in reality he was probably just as more mobile as if he were moving. The way he stood, the way he held himself, I was almost reminded of someone doing sprints. Trying to lure me in then, just _inviting me_ to try and slip by and intercept me… I was committed though, too far in to back out.

His reaction times were good, but he was still well within margin for a human and his size would work against him; I was smaller, more maneuverable. I just needed to make him overreach and it didn't matter how quick he was if he couldn't touch me.

Looming over me his off hand closed, reaching to grab when I feigned to the right. But the move was sluggish, almost a half measure as the arm went wide when his body swayed to block my passage. Exactly as I wanted though. Moving my feet, locking them, I reversed and juked back to his right side to duck beneath the spade— just as it spade snapped down to hip level and stabbed at where my stomach was going to be.

Digging my feet in I snapped my baton out between us, just barely catching the spade at its base and using the force of his stab to redirect it over my shoulder.

Protecting myself from the spade had been costly, holding back his arm had taken my momentum and my initiative. In the end, though, I had only been delayed. Gritting my teeth, I took one single breath to brace myself for what was about to happen, and released my hold against him. I twisted out of the way. He had been wide open before, but now so was I. He took the bait for what it was.

His offhand closed into a fist and he jabbed out, _hammering_ into my lower stomach. It was a full-on kidney shot that sent dull shocks through my lower stomach. But the pain was distant, tolerable, and not the knockout blow he must've thought it would be. It still hurt, and releasing my block and turning I just knew I'd be peeing blood—

The pressure against my baton suddenly disappeared and he pivoted on his toes, turning with me. And the spade, still grinding against my baton while pushing it down, suddenly twisted and hooked; the hand holding it contorting as his off hand came up to seize on my shoulder.

The tool shot up the length of my baton to stab past my elbow before turning sideways on and the sharpened side pressed into my sleeve on the underside of my arm. With a savage pull, he jerked back from elbow to wrist, slicing diagonally down the length of my forearm like he was trying to open it up like a filet and nicked my palm as he pulled back. A simple move that would've severed my radial and ulnar arteries.

 _That was the third time._

An absent realization, one that came even as his arm tensed. He was stabbed in, faster than I could fully move away and the spade smashed into the left side of my chest before skipping off. It hit my armor, fortunately, but the armor wasn't enough to stop a band of molten metal from igniting beneath my skin and flaring up as I breathed in.

Distantly, while clamping down on the pain, I recognized the spot he'd hit on as the one that'd been bothering me since the had snuck up on me. _The same. Fucking. Spot!_

The ribs had been bruised before, but at the minimum, they were now fractured. Without the silk and armor though— All too easily my imagination provided a graphic visual of the spade slipping between my ribs and tearing into my heart and lungs.

 _And that was the fourth time._

This time the acknowledgment came with cold acceptance of what I was going to do if I didn't get away from him. Two times in as many seconds. Two times to many. _Sloppy_.

I stumbled back when his hand released my shoulder and shot down, grabbing at my wrist. I pulled it into my stomach as butterflies descended from above and came in from the surrounding bush, a kaleidoscope of colored wings that choked the air and carried silk.

His fingers closed before I could escape put his foot between mine he swept my foot out from under me. The world lurched. I scrambling to catch myself and he stepped around to my back and twisted my arm to pin it between my shoulder blades. His fingers danced around the spades handle and his arm arced up, the point of the spade turning downward as my shoulder joint began to _burn;_ the muscles aching as they were stretched and pulled almost to their limit while his hold simultaneously agitated my ribs.

But the pain was only relative. It was a thing I had learned to ignore in order to survive and in the two years spent preparing for Jack I'd figured out just how far the effects of Bakuda's pain bomb' could let me go beyond normal limits. His hold was good, he was only a few more pounds of force away from him dislocating my arm, _but it wasn't enough_.

The spade stabbed down and I threw myself back, his wrist hitting against my collar bone and the blade stabbed at air. I pulled away again and bent my knees, ducking beneath the spade when he tried to catch on my neck with its edge grazing my chin. Flexing my arm I, used the whole of my body to force my wrist to turn in spite of his grip and the wrenching ache the move created in trying to face him. I ignored it, I ignored his look of consternation at my refusal to die, and I ignored the spade stabbing toward me as my lips parted in a silent snarl.

His grip was still tight, an unforgiving vice, but pulling hard enough to throw off his stab I kicked at his knee. He moved with the blow as he'd done before, trying to pull me down with him, but fool me once… The instant he was at eye level I stiffened my shoulders and snapped my neck forward in a sharp, rage-fueled headbutt that left the bridge of his nose deforming beneath my forehead and eliciting a muffled grunt.

The hold on my wrist loosened enough for me to turn and remain standing as my foot drove his knee into the ground. But he didn't let go, his grip tightened as blood poured down from his nose to splatter across the ground and his vest.

I used that tenacity against him to pull him back around toward me while twisting, at the same time turning on my toe and bringing my knee up in time with my pull to smash it into his head.

It failed to connect with his temple, impacting just above as he jerked away and he went limp. He still hadn't let go though.

"Let. _Go!_ " Heart thundering in my ears, lips pulling back in a snarl, my foot snapped up as he glowered up at me and I stomped square into the center of his chest. Something gave way in his vest and his grip finally slipped.

With a pained, breathless wheeze the big-guy fell back and rolled onto his side as I spun, collapsing my baton against my hip and stowing it lunged for the gun and stooped. My fingers locked around the pistol and I threw myself into the bushes.

A moment later the big-guy slapped at the ground and weakly propped himself up. His grip on the spade shifted, and with his arm arching back he _threw_ it, before falling to his side and hacking _._ It was last-ditch effort a clumsy throw, and the blade went high, spinning overhead like some sort of improvised Tomahawk. Emerging from the bushes in a clumsy roll I saw it stick into a tree a little ways ahead with a light _thunk_. I scrambled up as the big-guy sat up, stumbling as my legs a untangled before breaking out into a full sprint.

My attention fixed on the spade in a moment inspiration as I neared, and seeing it as the axe it could be I slowed even as the big-guy started getting back on his feet. My fingers contorted, turning the gun in my hand until I hooked my middle finger in the trigger guard and resting it against the back of my hand I ripped the spade from the tree as I passed.

With my hard won loot in hand I started running full tilt down the path. And it was an _actual_ path, a small game trail of some kind.

Rounding a bend my eyes snapped to a ragged tree stump further down the trail, and the remains of its fallen— or perhaps pushed —moss covered trunk lying alongside. Old, but still somewhat recent as the canopy had yet to fill back in with a beam of light shining down on a patch of thick underbrush beside the trail.

I made for it, just barely remembering to keep my steps light and irregular; as if I were jumping along river rocks. In action it was a little awkward, but it allowed the bugs I'd pre-positioned to work more efficiently in disguising my tracks with leaves and bits of detritus. Slowing to a stop I turned to where tall ferns, some kind of broad frond palm, and some orange bird of paradise flowers in full bloom had grown up in the light.

All of it parted to expose the overshadowed underbrush beyond so I could pass without disturbing it, masses upon masses of bugs pulling at silk threads. I stepped high to get over the log to keep from marring it and my ribs pulsed beneath my skin. There was nothing to do but ignore it as best I could though, and continuing through the portato the darkness beyond. With barely a thought I released the lines as I went to let the foliage rebound behind me while redirecting the swarm.

Quickly enough, the spot where I'd stopped was obliterated and my bugs swarmed over me. The big-guy stood, somewhat unsteadily but after taking a few deep breaths he he crashed into the bushes I'd fled through and immediately fell in a tangle of branches and limbs, a tripwire cutting him down at the knee.

I knelt beside a tree trunk, and pulling my hood up leaned against the rough wood to let the swarm begin covering me in full. With thousands upon thousands of insects working in concert, I became nothing more than a rock with patches of dirt and spots of moss scattered about to complete the illusion. It wasn't entirely perfect, namely in that my posture did little good for my ribs and adjusting had little affect, but I settled for biting my lip and suffering through it.

The big-guy lurched from the bushes and crumpled to the ground, just barely taking a knee. Fumbling, he touched at his radio and I started forming up a series of swarm-clones with the first in line just a little ways down from where I'd stepped, a clear target for him to go after.

"Mikhaylov na svyazi. Kontakt poteryan, povtoryayu, kontakt s tsel'yu poteryan, takzhe primite k svedeniyu, chto tsel' nakhoditsya vo vladenii moim pistoletom." gritting his teeth he turned away from the radio for a moment. "Kakiye budut prikazy? Priyom."

"Mikhailov here. Contact lost. Repeat, contact lost with target and be advised that the target is now in possession of my sidearm." gritting his teeth he turned away from the radio for a moment. "Orders? Over."

The old-hunter and commander exchanged glances and dumped their cargo, the older man snapped something as he slung his heavy rifle and snapped something as he brought out his cut down Kalashnikov.

The commander pressed at his radio. "Sleduy za ney, no derzhi distantsiyu. Yesli budet vozmozhnost' - strelyay, ne ekonom' na patronakh. Priyom."

The commander pressed at his radio. "Follow her but keep your distance. If you have a shot, take it. Don't be conservative. Over."

"Yest', komandir. Presleduyu tsel'. Konets svyazi."

Acknowledged, Commander. Moving to pursue. Out."

Grasping for his thigh holster he growled something. and spat to the side. In single furious movement, he reached back and unslung the cut-down Kalashnikov. Cradling it, he thumbed down the safety cover and rising to his feet he stormed down the trail, making only the occasional misstep while the marksman picked up his pace to rejoin his partner.

Quickly enough he came charging around the bend, forcing me to I freeze in place. I sat back watching him sprint toward the fallen tree and my hiding spot… then run right past. He zeroed on the swarm-clone and gave the assault weapon's trigger a firm touch but let go when the clone broke line of sight. He gave chase and the second in a long series of clones moved through gaps in the foliage to keep him occupied.

As his presence fled further down the path my bugs had led him down, I released the burden of my newly acquired loot to check myself over. Removing the armor plate his spade had connected with, I tentatively put my fingers to the spot it had covered my breast and pressed. With each prod, my bones flared up enough that the pain threatened to take my breath. However, I kept pressing and found one band that was more sensitive to my probing than the others. Pressing along its length, the pain had my hand repeatedly flinching away and teeth digging into my lip, but the end result left me comforted with the fact that nothing seemed to be broken. Heavily bruised and definitely fractured, _yes_ , but that seemed to be the extent of the damage.

Kneeling there and actually getting a moment to breathe was an easy reprieve. Too easy. I was loath to keep going, but the marksman was on his way and in spite of him beginning to limp again, he hadn't really slowed. I could rest later.

Replacing the section of armor I jammed the pistol into my belt at the small of my back and lashed the spade to my hip, holding it in place while the orb-weavers laced the thread around it and the belt. Then easing onto my hand hands and knees, I crawled deeper into the underbrush; moving through a tunnel made by my swarm.

After almost a minute of crawling on hand and knees, I came out onto a narrow trail where nearly everything green had been stripped away. The cause, thousands of leaf-cutter ants milled about, moving around me as I exited onto their superhighway, stood and immediately regretted it. Pain flashed through my ribs and had me doubling over, which in turn aggravated whatever damage I'd taken from the kidney punch.

I could do nothing but swallow the pain, not allowing myself a moment of weakness. I was off the path, I'd lost the big-guy and the tree wasn't far, but the marksman was still nearby and I rather not be caught by him again. Improbable as that may be. I'd also prefer to be off the ground when he rejoined the big-guy and pointed out that there were only one set of tracks on the trail. Or something to that effect. That the big-guy hadn't already realized though… well, thank god for tunnel vision. Although him trying to keep an eye on his surroundings while chasing the swarm-clone probably helped with that. Also, running with his broken nose, and whatever else my knee to his head and parting kick might to his chest might've done.

Forcing myself upright, I began moving down the path before turning onto another, then another, and another; zigzagging through the thoroughfares and between the larger clumps of plant life with little issue save a tense moment when the marksman limped by on the game trail. Soon, the jungle started to thin as I came under the shadow cast by the canopy of a single, massive tree. It was a pale, ancient thing. It's thick trunk overgrown with vines and many of the branches were half dead, riddled with termites where parts of it had died. It stood strong though, its core solid, with roots as high as my hip in places that spread from its base like an irregular web while hair-thin roots ran just beneath my feet like capillaries.

Standing at the edge of the clearing it sat in, I stared at a veritable forest of pale shoots descending from the lower branches of the same color that merged with the roots or ran into the ground while others hung like streamers. A light breeze blew through with a rustle of leaves, shifting them ever so. The cool air prompted goosebumps to spread across my skin and scalp where sweat cooled at the winds' touch, it was a sudden but not unwelcome relief.

Minding the whinging in my neck from where the spade had dug in, I craned my head back and briefly scanned the upper branches some sixty feet up where I was intending to hide.

I activated my flight pack, insects within the internal channels manipulating the necessary control surfaces and my feet hung beneath me the anti-grav took me aloft. Almost as an afterthought I reached back and pulled out the pistol I'd gone through so much effort to get; wouldn't do to lose it at this point. Looking down to it though, I saw it shake in my hand. The adrenaline was runnings its course and the exertions of the flight and fight were beginning to take its toll. I was crashing, and hard— this tree may very well be where I sleep the day away.

Despite that, and despite knowing the big-guy and the marksman couldn't see me, I was twitchy and focused as I rose higher into the air. However, in spite of that, I was still mindful of being as frugal as I could be with however much power I had left. After everything, I'd put it through just to get around after losing locomotion… well, like any Tinker Tech it would die without upkeep, but still. Best to just use it while I could, but no need to be wasteful.

Looking to a bed of brown and green leaves, situated in the crook of several thick branches as thick as my chest., My wings came out and the propulsion pods moved me toward the tree as I absently called on the whiptail to retrieve my thermos which, fortunately, was still within range and idly observed the arachnid as it crawled into the canopy at my direction and began racing along the upper branches; using its low weight and reach for all was worth.

Watching it move as it was though, also made me wonder how much of the Green I'd need in order to for it to walk among the treetops with me on its back… My cheeks warmed and I began weighing how long it would take to refine my control to get it to such a size, the amount of Green it would take regardless.

It was tempting, _very tempting_. But, rotating in place and settling into the bed of leaves, I only needed to think of everything _else_ I needed to do to put a damper on the prospect of it carrying me around.

Easing back into the branches though, I cradled my ribs as they flared up, my breath hitching and I adjusted my breathing. I needed to get some padding and wrap them. I forced my attention elsewhere. I looked down to my new pistol and the prospect of the things I needed to do became a little less daunting.

My thumb traced along the curve of the knurled plastic grip, eyes following the black metal slide and its worn silver edges along the flat sides and mouth of the barrel— marks from where it had been holstered and drawn untold times. It had a good weight to it, beyond its actual heft, and fit comfortably in my hand.

Thumbing the magazine release, I saw a cutaway in the side and examined the oddly pointed cartridges it over I found a counter on the back, going from ten to eighteen with some lettering at the bottom. It was also full, so… assuming there one was in the chamber, that meant I had nineteen rounds. More than enough.

Working the magazine back into place I pressed it against my thigh and ramming it home my eyes were drawn to a notch at the bottom of the grip; a crescent of exposed magazine. It was enough space that I could grab with my teeth were I to acquire another magazine… were I to acquire another magazine... The question wasn't if I acquired one, but _how many_.

A weak giggle escaped my lips before the sound truncated into a low groan, my ribs making themselves known. I slowly shuffled back until I touched the branch. The movement was practically murder on my ribs, but it actually helped in a way. It cut through the post-adrenaline haze and forced me to take shorter breaths, letting me think a bit more clearly while focusing my attention toward how my current state had come about.

Not exactly my best performance, almost on par with going after Lung on my first night out if I was being honest with myself. The way I'd held back as I had… stupid. Prudent, but stupid. I'd come out of what should've been a simple engagement beaten and battered. However, all things considered… I glanced down to where my stump lay beneath my poncho. Well, a few hiccups could be allowed. For now at least.

I was missing an arm, had been shot in the head, dumped on an island and left to fend for myself... _But I still had it_ , I thought.

My lips turned up in a wan grin and I leaned my head back.

It was a reaffirmation of my abilities.

Ego stroking aside, the list of things I needed to do before my position on the island was secured was... _lengthy_. And that was putting it lightly. But with the pistol… my hand momentarily tightened around its polymer grip before placing it in my lap and directing a few orb-weavers to emerge from my hair they set about cleaning out the rest of the webbing.

Now that I was armed though, I could easily check off a number of them and get some answers at the same time.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander, half listening to my heartbeat fade from my hearing while questions I wanted to ask came and went alongside ideas for various projects I had in mind for the radio bunker; things that simplified or accelerated with the gear and materials the mercenaries had brought with them. The rope alone… it'd be bulky, but getting ahold of that would save me production time that could be dedicated to everything else I'd be making.

But, supplies aside, the people in possession of them were still a problem. Something I couldn't simply disregard.

Dissipating my final swarm-clone in a small clearing a (relatively) short ways away, I left the big-guy with neither a target in sight or trail to follow. His quarry gone.

He stood within the small clearing, the stock of his cut down Kalashnikov pressed against his shoulder as he looked for where my clone might have gone. He all alone, though, or so he thought.

I descended into my swarm and watched him mull about. He was only alone for a short while, however, when the marksman caught up. Conferring, they took one last look before making their way back to the drive.

Furthering immersing myself, focusing as best I could, I watched while they regrouped so I could bask in the aftermath of their failure. Mind, I was still hurting, but if there was one thing that could give me a reprieve, it was the schadenfreude of watching some pricks' day go south.

-I-

Through my bugs I watched, I listened: I observed.

I watched the mercenaries regroup back on the drive, the old-hunter immediately moving to set the big-guys nose before quietly tearing into them and all but interrogating them on what had happened. Unfortunately, after whatever had been said they cleaned their weapons of my machinations, gathered up their gear, and returned to the jungle at their employers' direction; marching for where I'd dissipated the last clone.

I listened to the mercenaries explain what had happened and the old-hunter further berate them, his voice easier to pick up now that he was surrounded by my swarm. The language was still incomprehensible, which was getting annoying, but the tone said plenty: he _really_ wasn't happy, however, at the same time there was understanding. Little signs, hand gestures, and other bits of nonverbal communication gave me enough of a picture that I could take away that much at least. It was something I was more familiar with, the attitude of a boss; disappointed, but accepting that they'd tried their best.

I observed the old-hunter examine the ground, even looking to the trail the big-guy had left before standing with a palpable anger that all but radiating off him while the other three men stood guard. After a few moments he seemed to calm himself and turning to the commander he retrieved a brickish radio— or perhaps phone —from the other man's pack, and folding out a thick antenna he pressed at the keypad before putting it to his ear and speaking. His conversation quickly became heated and he snapped at whoever was on the other end of the line. At the same time as he barked a response, though, a fly left to its own devices landed on a warm, pebbled surface only to be blown away by a blast a hot, wet air.

My eyes snapped open as underbrush the fly had been in rustled and a long shape surged forth, emerging from within the foliage before letting out a sonorous, honking call that echoed through the jungle.2

—

And that's that. Somehow the original became this which… well I think it accomplished what it originally set out to, and better than I thought it was, I think, but goddamn is it far, far, _far_ too long for my liking… it being as long as it just complicates things. But I needed to put it up. If I hadn't I'd have just gotten bogged down by it even more than I already have. It never would've been right, never perfect, ect, etc, etc.

Many thanks go to Evil Atlas and Darkarma for taking the time to help me beat this into something somewhat workable with AoD being a big help with the translations.


	14. Chapter 14 (Omake and AN)

Omake: ISH SHO FLUFFY!

A/N: Needed to write something and didn't want to just put up an A/N (it is at the bottom) without anything behind it… so I guess you guys get a treat. BTW, an omake it may be, but the basics are still set in-universe .

—

I felt them when the shallow bowl came into range: the insects associated with decay, rot, and the carcasses they were infesting. Not many, but more than the zero that there should've been.

Creeping through the jungle though, the cause became evident enough and coming up on the edge of the small clearing in the dense jungle I watched a small ball of multi-colored fluff tear into an unidentifiable dinosaur.

I must have watched it for a few minutes before the wind shifted and it turned to look at me, just staring before it made an odd little waddle and ducked down to wiggled back and forth. Two stubby wings tipped with short claws grasped at the air before pulling into its chest.

It was… adorable. I wanted to pet it and snuggle with it and name it george— I reached into a pocket before my hand snapped back.

No. Taylor, no… you shouldn't go down there, you don't know what it is… I fully stepped out of from behind the tree and reached into my pocket for my snack bag.

Taylor… no. _No_!

Its tail gave a little wiggle and when a wing came up to wipe at its muzzle the restraint crumbled.

Taylor, YES!

The baby dinosaur watched me as I approached the edge of the bowl; ducking down and watching me from behind a carcass. But kneeling down and pulling out I strip of dried meat I waited and eventually it came out of hiding and approached.

The downy head cocked, looking from me to the dried meat. It shuffled forward, making loud, snuffling noises as it sniffed at the meat before its head snapped forward. I jerked my hand back as it tilted its head back, gnawing on the strip with little nubs of white while I grimaced at the twisted fingers hidden within the leather glove.

Definitely broken, but reaching within to tap into that well, they straightened out; the damage was erased in a haze of green smoke.

Eventually, the ball of fluff finished off its treat and walked back to me, leaving little chicken foot imprints in the soil. Something nagged at me about them, but… nothing. Nothing that stood out at least.

"So cute you are."

It burbled at me, and reaching out I let it sniff at my gloved hand nipped while I pulled back. Smelling the dried meat no doubt.

Pulling out another strip I let it gnaw on that while reaching out again and wove a little White and Green into my fingers as I reached out to stroke its head, finding a soft cleft just above its fluffy muzzle. The wisps of smoke sank into the animal, doing their job and rather than bite my hand it leaned into it and kept chewing.

"What are you though? And where's your mama?" I cocked my head and stared at it critically, looking at the footprints and trying to remember why they looked so familiar.

Nothing… although, it was a baby, so maybe if I just thought of them as bigger?

Then the giant chicken came into range and its massive head momentarily superimposed itself over the babies. The larger footprints overlaying the miniature.

I swallowed. "Ah, yes. I see… so that's your mama." My hand stilled as I removed the fluff and compared it to the bastard… or, well, bitch I suppose. "Well shit."

Something crashed in the jungle and an all too familiar roar tore through the jungle.

—

TL;DW:

At this point, I'm pretty certain I just suck at writing interludes and I think anyone who's followed my other fics would probably agree… I mean, there was also a bit of biting off more than I could chew to it with what I was/am trying to do and am reconsidering some aspects to simplify it, but by the flying spaghetti monster I didn't think it would be so hard to work out a few setup scenes that didn't come off as exposition dumps. (sighs) So anyway, yeah, just thought I'd give yall an update on how things are going. I'm working on it, it is coming along, buts its slow going and getting the narration right between the various scenes was/is being a pain in the ass to the point that I'm just trying to get it rounded out so I can use it as a reference to rewrite the thing from start to finish.

Also, for those who might be interested, I'm also working on the next snip for Networked (A Certain Scientific Railgun SI) which is coming along nicely as well (after I got over my walking-down-the-hall itis. So there's that.

Edit: Also there's classes that're turning out to be more of a buzzkill than expected. That's one of my big time sinks at the moment.


	15. Chapter 15

C'est La Vie (Worm/MTG) #03.5 Interlude A (Artur Yurievich)

A/N: (Rings bell) ORDERS UP!

So… yup. Here it is... (scratches head) yup. Now, I don't always do interludes, but when I do, it takes months longer to get them out than it should've taken and are far larger than originally intended… Needless to say, there won't be another interlude for a very long time. Although, admittedly, this was complicated by this being... Actually I'm not going to get into it here, on with the story.

—

Cradling his suppressed rifle, Artur's hand slowly gripped his Vintorez's barrel tighter and tighter. Meanwhile, his eyes bored into the back of his client's head as the man screamed into their 'use in case of emergency' satellite phone. Of course, he wasn't exactly Artur's client now was he, he was the Commander's. If he _had_ been Artur's, he would've been hit by now for acting like such a fucking _cowboy_.

"Might create _tension_ in the negotiations? Dmitry, I dont give a damn if it causes _tension_! If we can't trust them not to fuck us _now_ , then how can we trust them not to fuck with any of our product? If they can't be trusted to do their jobs then any alliance we make with them is _worthless!"_

He tried not to listen, he really did, he wanted nothing to do with whatever enterprise the other man was getting himself involved in with the South American drug cartels. But the irony of it was hard to ignore. By all accounts, the man was self-destructing his own operation over concerns that someone unrelated to him was putting said operation at risk. It only reinforced Artur's impression of the man being nothing but an impulsive cowboy behind whatever mask of culture he tried to comport himself with.

Still. Amusement aside, they were still on a hunt and the man was compromising the entire outing.

Artur's eyes flicked past the back of the Commander's head and watched the officer scan his sector for a moment before speaking up. "Commander."

After a moment, the officer turned enough to look back over his shoulder, but only for a second before returning to watching his sector.

Artur knew he was pressing the limits of insubordination, but he pressed on regardless. " _Commander_ ," he repeated, stressing the rank and raising his voice to get the officer's attention.

Once more turning from his vigil, they made eye contact and Artur jerked his chin at their client, trying to impress on the Commander that he needed to do _something_.

But raising a brow, the Commander just glanced at the client, who in turn made a dismissive fluttering gesture and continued arguing without a second thought. The officer regarded the older man for only a moment more before his disinterested gaze returned to Artur, then as if nothing was wrong he jerked his head toward the jungle before turning away.

Unwilling to disobey the implicit order, Artur grudgingly turned around to watch his sector and tried harder to ignore the cowboy. He was only somewhat successful.

The expedition had barely begun and he was already beginning to consider whether or not he'd regret agreeing to serve as a guide for this 'hunt'—really, could it even be called that when they were more appropriately armed for an active combat zone? There was nothing to do about it, though. Usually, despite being a bit patronizing in how he regarded those he considered 'the help', their client was for the most part tolerable. But once the man got into a mood, he was entirely too full of himself to recognize anyone else's input. Or, in the current case, realize the position he was in or listen to the advice of those who _did—_ and per the usual, the Commander wasn't going to oppose him.

Maybe the man was someone back home, no doubt someone who'd held a position in Yeltsin's government or used his connections to get fat off the nation's privatization. Here, however, in a place so far removed from whatever cesspool of backstabbing, backroom bargains and double-dealing he thrived in, it was as stark a comparison as the East versus the West. It hadn't taken an hour for him to start fraying at the edges when things stopped going according to plan. And all over a girl with one arm.

Rather than seeing a castaway, someone stranded who'd been drawn in by their helicopter's arrival, he saw a spy for the South American drug cartels he was in negotiations with. Because somehow it made sense to him that a one-armed girl—and one who introduced herself with American English, rather than _Spanish_ or _Russian_ no less—would be sent to get blackmail on him.

Him giving in to his paranoia was doing nothing but putting them all at risk.

Then again, half listening in on the man's summation of what had happened, Artur grudgingly conceded that there was something... _irregular_ , about it all. Of all the islands someone could become stranded on, what kind of one-armed girl could survive on _this_ island, a place where the smallest of the herd animals could put an agitated moose to shame? Furthermore, what kind of one-armed girl could go up against someone like Mikhail and survive the encounter, much less make off with his sidearm?

His lips pinched into a tight grimace. More important than the improbability of a one-armed girl being some kind of agent however, was the detail that said one-armed girl was now not only armed but had reason to be hostile toward them. Moreover, while her initial flight had been chaotic, _panicked,_ when reflecting back on their pursuit she had actually been able to move through the jungle with disquieting ease. Worse, when given the chance, she had been capable of moving without leaving a trail. She'd known the terrain she'd led them on a wild chase... through…

Maybe he was being affected by the Cowboy's paranoia, but his train of thought caught on that and it put a sour taste in his mouth. _Had_ she been leading them on? If assuming she was something other than she had seemed, that put their pursuit and the events of the chase into an entirely different light.

His mind whirred at the possibility and the possible implications. It _seemed_ unlikely. What kind of person would or even could plan something like that? But... she _had_ managed to separate them, and once that had happened she'd managed to acquire Mikhail's sidearm before vanishing without a trace… OK. Looking at it from that perspective, maybe the cowboy did have some reason to be upset.

Regardless, the man should have been smarter about this, and if their client wouldn't be then the Commander needed to be. They should've been setting up base camp and establishing a perimeter by now, and he should've been put on overwatch in case she came back around. But no, instead they were standing around in the middle of the jungle where there was nothing approaching decent cover.

Not for the first time, he looked over his shoulder to check the others' sectors, their position's vulnerability making him overly aware of their lack of body armor. His eyes flicked between the trees, glanced momentarily into the shadows, and peered into the underbrush as best they could. She could be using the trees and foliage to approach under cover and they wouldn't even know until it was too late.

It gave him the all too familiar feeling that he was being watched.

Exchange the humidity and the trees for bombed out ruins and snow, and it was almost like he was still deployed in Grozny; constantly having to watch his back when he should've been able to relax, or while on overwatch, or sleeping... Knowing there was someone out there just waiting to take a shot at you, it was a special type of hell.

Breathing deep, he slowly exhaled and resisted the urge to look beyond his sector agai—the cowboy screamed something unintelligible in his native Georgian. It was loud enough that a bird screeched and took flight somewhere nearby.

Artur let out a slow, shuddering breath. Then there was the screaming, why did people always, _always_ have to resort to _screaming?_

It was obnoxious, and a sign of a person's inability to resort to rational methods to get someone's attention. More so, it was unnecessary and counterproductive. If you wanted someone to listen closely then you made them focus with your words and _listen_ to what you were saying, rather than verbally beating them. Also, it was _loud_ and loud could be _dangerous._

A consequence of being raised by people who lived more off the land than off the state, Artur had participated in hunts and trapping expeditions throughout his childhood and teenage years. Whether it had been coming along as a glorified pack mule to help his aging grandfather, or a full member of the excursions in later years, the concern of falling prey to bears coming out of hibernation or wolves preceding winter had been a constant. However, they were _known_ quantities, the threat they posed was manageable and the actual danger they represented was negligible.

That wasn't the case here, not even close. Here, man hadn't killed off most of the things that posed a danger to him, but instead had created things that could kill with ease. Near everything that had been created and left on this island was deadly and he didn't know enough to predict how they might react to the ruckus the cowboy was raising… If they hadn't already.

Artur nervously shifted his weight and ignored the ache in his leg.

In planning out this hunting excursion, one of the key components had been figuring out where to make camp, with the island's more intact ruins being on the short list from the earliest stages. It had been decided that such places could provide easily defensible positions.

Eventually, the 'Visitors Center' had been selected due to it being centrally located and in close proximity to an interconnected network of utility tunnels that had been dug throughout the island. The one issue had been that, despite the defensive benefits of the location, the region it resided in was conspicuously absent of the animals they were actually there to hunt. When Artur had raised that point, their client had had only been able to say they didn't linger in the area. He'd had been dubious of that, but the intel the client's people had 'acquired' had backed it up. It would be safer to base there, it'd been argued, and by using the tunnels they could go wherever they wanted to unopposed. Yet, neither the client _nor_ the files had been able to give an answer as to _why_ the animals didn't linger in the region, and the other men hadn't thought to question this.

Animals don't just _avoid_ an entire region of an island, even one as large as this one, particularly not animals as large as those they had come to hunt. That meant either _something_ called this region home that those responsible for mapping the island had been unaware of, or there was some other reason they avoided it. Something like a gas leak from a storage area in the tunnels could explain it—or a geothermal fissure, considering the island's volcanism. In either case, they had a chemical sensor and brought NBC-rated gas masks to use in the tunnels. But they didn't know for certain, and the fact remained that animals simply don't avoid anything without good reason. They tended to be smarter than people in that regard.

But there the team was, despite Artur's reservations and every rational argument he could think of to avoid the location in spite of its benefits.

He grimaced, teeth grinding as a stronger than normal jolt of pain shot up his back; his leg yet again reminding him it had yet to fully heal. After a moment, Artur let out a rattling sigh of relief as the pain returned to a dull, continuous ache. It shouldn't even have been hurting, he shouldn't even have _strained_ it _._ Yet because of the girl, castaway, spy, or _whatever the hell she was_ , he'd done something to it. And, because of her, they were all but standing around with their asses hanging out while their client recklessly announced their presence to anything and everything within a hearing range.

In spite of his medication though, or perhaps because of the clarity it imposed, a knot tightened in his gut and he recalled the moments preceding the mess they were now in: Seeing the glint, _mentioning it_ , taking a shot, her fleeing her cover... and seeing her laid on the ground when she failed to catch herself. It was the look she'd given them that had kept him from taking a follow-up shot, and it stuck with him more and more every time he revisited the encounter.

It had been different from the usual looks of anger and righteous hatred he'd become accustomed to seeing in his sleep. There had been a less familiar sense of _determination_ and _assuredness_ to it. Though all the same, while she'd lain there the all too familiar look of panic at being caught had held him back. In that moment, she had looked far younger.

But if he'd just _ignored_ what he had seen then none of this would be happening. If it had been anything other than a glint among the ferns… but no, that kind of detail was something that had become too ingrained in his psyche to simply disregard. People _died_ when you missed things like that.

The knot tightened as the irony failed to escape him.

The agreement to help with this hunting excursion had largely been contingent upon the Commander getting his medical leave extended beyond the time that his injuries necessitated— _far_ beyond, as it were. He'd wanted a medical discharge, not _just_ extended leave.

In giving the condition, it had been with the expectation that the officer would fail; it had been something to get the man to just go away. Yet, as the days following their meeting had drawn on... as wounded personnel were continually cycled through his shared room, that expectation of failure had become a poisonous _hope_ , hope for the crooked officer's success so he could escape the remainder of his mandatory service.

The generous payout the man had opened with had certainly helped, and it would most _definitely_ help back at the farm, but the slim prospect of getting away from it all had become what really galvanized him into agreeing—if however tentatively. When the Commander had actually come through though… He'd all but thrown himself into rounding out the preliminary plans they had in place. The prospect of being able to decompress out in the wilderness for the first time in a year had been simply invigorating—regardless of said wilderness being in South America, somewhere he'd known _nothing_ about.

There were downsides to what he would be doing, naturally, but so be it. If it took him playing guide and game-tracker to escape the rows of corpses staring up at him from their shallow graves, then he would do it.

Yet... here he was, party to the atrocities he had been trying to escape from. Some form of punishment? Was he meant to suffer for what he'd done? For the decisions he'd been forced to make?

Artur wasn't sure if returning to that bombed out hellhole of a city or morgue of a hospital would be better… at least things were more honest there. He just had to follow orders.

Absently, he found himself tracing the edges of the repurposed tic-tac container in his breast pocket, running his fingers along the rounded bottom edge and—for the first time in a while—wondering how many he would need to take to stop _thinking_. But as quickly as the prospect of going numb, and just doing as he was told, came, he tore his hand away and returned to watching his wedge of jungle for anything—or _anyone_ —that might be approaching from the rear.

He scanned across the reaches of his sector. Apprehensions aside, he had his role to play here and numbing himself wasn't the answer; wallow in introspection later, when everything was over and done with.

Before he could fully settle into standing watch, a call rang out in the south. He pivoted, ignoring an angry throb from his leg, and found himself of like mind with the three other men. All of them stared into the jungle as a deep, warbling call—like a warped combination of goose and bear—washed over them. It cut off quickly, but the sound had put his hair on end. Even with just a few seconds to listen, he had been able to identify a plethora of highs and lows within the call that paralleled a wolf song to a terrifying degree.

And when the call had quieted, so too had the jungle. The ever-present chorus of birds flying about and bugs in the background had disappeared. It was like… like they were standing in a _graveyard_ , or the gutted wreck of an apartment complex once occupied by dozens of families. Then suddenly the silence was broken, a near cacophony of insect screeching and chirps rushing to fill the void left behind, seemingly louder than ever to make up for their temporary absence. The birds remained silent through, their calls and cries nowhere to be heard and the atmosphere of the jungle all the more ominous for the absence.

Furthest from him, a few meters away, Mikhail twisted his head hard enough for Artur to hear the vertebrae crack with wet, snapping pops. The giant of a man seemed utterly relaxed and unphased in spite of the seriousness of the situation; that was just the man's nature. But then, why wouldn't he be when he had a gun? Mikhail and the Commander though, they didn't have the right _perspective_ ; they didn't consider there might be an _animal_ attacking them from behind while they shot at the one attacking from the front.

Artur said nothing of his inner critique, however. Instead, he watched the reserved commando calmly adjust the straps of his heavy rucksack before calling over his shoulder: "Your orders, commander?"

The question brought life back to the officer and after a tense pause he nodded sharply. "We move in thirty." He half turned, making eye contact with Artur. "Yurievich, you're on point." Then, pivoting, he thrust his hand out to their client. "If you would please, sir. The phone."

Artur had to turn away and bite his tongue while checking over his weapon: making sure the safety was off, that the magazine was properly seated, and—after carefully half racking the bolt without ejecting the round—that it wouldn't fail to cycle. He also turned _just enough_ , in order to watch from the corner of his eye as the cowboy hung up, handed off the satellite phone, and hefted his elephant gun. And he did it all without a word of complaint or resistance.

But of course the Commander only did something _now_ , once something had happened that wouldn't make it seem like he was stepping out of line or going against their client.

Artur turned away and began surveying the jungle they had come through with some twenty seconds remaining. However, examining the trees and the thick foliage for gaps that they could slip through, he suddenly found it far more daunting than when they had first broken trail. The small clearing they had stopped in was approximately a hundred meters into the jungle, but even though he could see the trees above the road, the jungle's underbrush was thick enough that he couldn't see anything below that.

His head panned back and forth, evaluating which paths they could take with a critical eye.

On the first pass a number of routes were picked out, and on the second he cut those down to a handful while looking for anything out of place or for any sign that _someone_ might be lying in wait. It was on the third pass, with the cowboy moving close as Mikhail and the Commander closed ranks, that he caught movement far to the left. Some distance out, he just barely glimpsed a long-tailed silhouette flitting through a gap in the underbrush.

Artur hastily tracked right, scanning along the direction he thought it was heading in, but didn't catch a second glimpse. It _was_ something, and that it could move _fast_ was something else. In the short, frantic search that followed, however, he stared into the dark of the jungle and found the shadows growing larger and darker with every passing second, inexplicably extending toward them… A tendril of dread curled around his heart, but he willfully ignored the encroaching darkness and reported the sighting, then shifted the plan to just taking whatever path looked the quickest.

Despite that, part of him sought an explanation for what was happening and he began to wonder if they were simply in the midst of a migration the cowboy's shouting might have triggered. Although it was a 'long shot', as an American might say. Even critically considering the idea for a barely more than a moment he was forced to discard it. While what he'd seen had been moving too fast to get a good look at, that in conjunction with the glimpse he'd gotten and the call that few prey animals would have a need to develop had narrowed the options by a considerable margin. But it wasn't a comfort.

There were only a few predators of note on the island, but among that number… Recalling notations regarding distributed nervous systems and thick rib cages, concerns about the effectiveness of his current weapon suddenly came to the fore. Pulling the Vintorez's stock into his armpit, he weighed whether or not to simply drop it then and there in favor of his Dragunov, adding up the seconds it would take to drop his pack and unstrap it against the benefit of having a more familiar and higher caliber weapon in his hands.

The entire operating premise behind bringing the extra weapons—and the associated _weight_ —had been predicated upon them trying to minimize their presence in order to not draw unwanted attention from the wildlife. That plan may as well have been lit on fire for all it had been adhered to, but the inverse could be applicable. While these animals wouldn't have the learned avoidance of firearms that those in the Urals did, the noise of their gunfire _might_ be enough to drive them off.

Before he could voice the idea, Mikhail reported spotting something at his two o'clock, with the cowboy calling out that he spotted something to the north. Just as quickly as his idea had come it was discarded as he processed the information. He visualized what had been reported: Two on the left, in front of them and behind, another on the right and behind them… with them at the center. It was unlikely, but it sounded less like migration and more like a rough—

"It's a damn encirclement," the Commander announced and spat to the side.

Behind him, the cowboy bleated something about that not being possible, but he was ignored and hearing the distinct metallic clatter of pins being pulled Artur realized what was happening.

"Commander," he spoke up, eyes searching for any sign of movement, "I recommend we hold position and use the gas only once we are sure it will be effective. The route back is dense, if we simply wait—"

"No. We move before we're surrounded. Prepare to move in five. Mikhail, disperse along your flank. Make a corridor. We shall funnel them right into our line of fire."

His teeth ground. The Commander was thinking in terms of maneuvering people, not animals. His plan wasn't unreasonable, a variant of the CS grenades they'd acquired had been used to manage the animals at their free-range production facility. However, expecting predators to behave within reason when your assumptions were based on second-hand anecdotes about adverse reactions and notes on hunting behavior was folly.

Despite his thoughts on the matter though, he followed the order and brought up his rifle, ready to move out. A moment later a pair of silver canisters leaking yellow smoke were thrown out ahead to begin dispersing. Unfortunately, there was little to no breeze to carry it and, from what Artur could see through the foliage, the resulting coverage was anemic at best. Then a second pair were thrown out closer to them, and a third popped a little to his left and right.

He hesitated for an instant, his instincts telling him to stay put and warring with just following the order. Then the faint yellow tinge of the poorly dispersed tear gas wafted over and he saw the shadows recede, their sharp edges losing definition. Artur took it as a sign and advanced toward the edge of the clearing.

The orderly, organized retreat they had drilled on the mainland lasted less than three steps.

From his periphery Artur saw the cowboy suddenly appear, hefting his cannon and giving the Vintorez a pointed look. Before he could order the older man back, the cowboy stuck his arm out and pushed him back with surprising strength.

"I think you'll be better off at the center, son," he murmured while staring ahead, his voice just loud enough to be heard and in what he must've thought was a reassuring tone. "Just watch my flanks, will you? I'll handle anything that comes up, you'll see."

Moving before he had even processed what was happening, nevertheless _understand_ it, Artur reacted to the man being out of formation by reaching out to grab the back of his vest and _pull him the fuck back_. But the fucking _cowboy_ stepped just out of reach, his elephant gun up and at the ready as he aggressively advanced toward the edge of the clearing—he was moving as if he was clearing a room.

The formation fell apart. Mikhail and the Commander fell behind while they covered the rear, and before anything could be done to stop him the cowboy was at the edge of the clearing. Too fast, too rushed, too _reckless._

Temper flaring, his blood rushing in his ears, Artur almost didn't hear the rustle of foliage being forced aside before a narrow, muddy-red form surged forth, ivory teeth glistening in a widening maw turned sideways on—The elephant gun twitched onto the target. Before Artur could react, both barrels were unloaded into the onrushing dinosaur and every other noise disappeared under an oppressive ringing.

It dropped, and the foliage behind it turned crimson flecked with white and dark viscera, but for all that the first attacker was dead, the noise had been deafening. Neither of them heard anything of the flanking attack by the second attacker until the vegetation on their left burst apart and a green shape leapt at the cowboy.

Old, long-ingrained instincts kicked in at the sight of its flying form, and just like shooting down a startled pheasant, Artur brought his rifle up, tracked the target for a fraction of a second, and fired on the flying form. Every round hit the center mass, but it did _nothing_.

An oversized bird's leg sank deep into the clueless Cowboy as it drove into him like a tank through a gutted sedan. His head vanished between the thing's jaws before he could scream, and from around the foot buried in the old man's side a bit of torn lower intestine slipped out along with a spray of bright red arterial blood as he was gutted like a pig.

Artur calmly fired several rounds in rapid succession into the dinosaur's neck and skull, only waiting a beat to see it begin to fall. That done, he pivoted on his toe as he faintly heard targets being called out.

Another of the dinosaurs, identical in profile and build but colored a mottled green, was charging in from the Commander left flank while he was occupied with shooting at something in the jungle on Artur's right. Its strides were long, little foreclaws grasping at the air with each step, and with its body low to the ground it had a very low profile. Artur put the beast's head in his crosshairs and pulled the trigger once, twice, and with the third shot, panic began setting in as the shots did little but carve bloody furrows into its pebbled hide and make it flinch as if it were only being stung by bees.

The officer saved himself. Abruptly turning to face the onrushing animal, he fired once before dropping his rifle. In a smooth, practiced movement he reached beneath his pack and drew an obrez, a cut down Mosin Nagant barely longer than a normal pistol. He turned side-on and fired.

Beside the cowboy unloading both his rifle's barrels, the cracking report from the sawn-off, bolt action rifle was negligible; the muzzle flash was another matter. Excess gases burned bright enough to leave a bright spot in Artur's vision when the pistolized rifle fired, blowing a hole out the back of the dinosaur's neck and dropping it in one shot.

Artur was already turning to assist Mikhail when the Saiga-12 roared and someone _screamed_. Blood turning to ice in his veins, he turned in time to see the big man fall back, the jaws of his ravaged, bloodied attacker locked around his neck and a foot buried deep in his stomach. Both were dead even if they didn't know it yet but… as they fell Artur's eyes were drawn to the shotgun swinging wide, its sling cut in the attack.

Artur watched, as with each pulse of blood in his ears, Mikhail's finger pulled back on the trigger.

The first shots went wide, but from the corner of his eye he, saw the Commander's front blossom red and his pack come apart as the slugs tore through him. Half a second later, the man crumpled to the ground.

In no more than thirty seconds the rest of his squad had died, their principal had gotten himself killed through his own recklessness, and… and…

Between breaths, Artur's chest tightened and felt as if it had been put in a vice. His squad dead, the HVT lost, and now it was just him surrounded on all sides. _Again_.

The agonizing pain of shrapnel tearing through his leg shot through him and any trace of despair was crushed beneath a flood of adrenaline. His eyes snapped between the two bodies, alighting on the Commander's pack with its mission-critical contents before re-prioritizing and shifting to the shotgun with its half-capacity magazine of slugs still gripped in Mikhail's outstretched paw. The side of his hand pressed tight against the magazine of his own rifle: eleven rounds fired, nine remaining, and all subsonic rounds with ineffective stopping power.

Just above the ringing and chorus of insects all around him, Artur was barely able to make out a deep, rumbling hiss emanating from somewhere in the surrounding foliage.

He spun in place while retreating deeper into the clearing, listening for whatever warning would give away an attack while frantically looking for the slightest shift in the surrounding foliage. If he could just get enough space to move, then maybe—

The half-formed plan died as he turned and saw thick streams of darkness coalescing, cutting off his retreat.

Before he could even consider pushing past them or gather the will to do so, the streams merged into an opaque wall. He turned to flee, to try and escape to the road... only to find himself surrounded on all sides. Enclosed, isolated—movement at his feet, the darkness. It poured in around him, flooding in, cutting him off from any hope of escape and muting the world beyond with an increasingly intense buzzing, the white noise constantly emitted by his room's faulty intercom.

For an instant and an eternity, the darkness and green foliage of the jungle blurred together and he was back _there_ , staring up at a puke green fabric ceiling with the nauseating stench of disinfectant, diesel, plastic melted onto flesh, and rot flooding in his nose. His blood curdled as the shrill screech a few cots away pierced the white noise. Spinning to stare into the darkness, he saw only roiling black but knew in his soul that something stared back.

They struck once his back was turned. Between nearly deafening heartbeats and the ringing in his ears, Artur heard the snapping cracks of the foliage being violently forced apart an instant before it was on him. He buckled under the blow, his pack absorbing much of the impact as something raked at the back of his neck. Dropping his rifle, Artur grabbed for his knife even as he knew it was far too late.

The expected pain never came. Instead, his collar was suddenly digging into his throat and his fingers only just brushed against the knife sheath before being wrenched down to his waist.

Somehow, beyond the difficulty breathing, Artur managed to recognize his pack's straps digging into his armpits and that he was being lifted up by the scruff of his shirt as his feet left the ground. Then breathing became the priority and blood rushed in his ears as he strained to reach for whatever held his collar.

He kicked out, searching for purchase or to land a blow on whatever held him—one of the winged dinosaurs? His chest constricted and he could all but feel talons digging in around his wrists, holding them in an iron grip. He pulled again but it was to no avail, the best he could do was stumble along with whatever carried him along and keep his head down as he was whipped at by every twig, branch, and razor-edged palm that got in the way.

There was nothing he could do. With every root and rock his feet caught on, his collar pulled tighter and tighter and made it that much harder to even think about doing _something_. The jungle quickly became a watery, stinging blur of black and indistinct green.

Then it stopped, the pressure on his throat released, he gasped for breath as his feet settled on a hard surface and a pair of grand doors were filling his vision until he was slammed into them and they became all he could see. But he could breathe, and as quickly as his lungs filled he tried to throw back an elbow only for the door to suddenly swing away and whatever was behind him to shove him forward.

Twisting mid-fall, Artur managed to land on his side, turned the landing into a haphazard roll, and half sat up. His hands found his rifle and started to raise it, aiming for the center of a gold blur rushing forwar—

" _Enough!_ "

Some sort of tri-pronged claw shot up from below to clamp onto the rifle's barrel with a metallic _clang._ He fought against the hold, tried to get his muzzle back on target, but one moment he was pulling against the hold and the next it wrenched the barrel aside. The sight of an uncomfortably familiar pistol put a stop to his struggles and for a split second, another, more worn and battered pistol held by tiny hands momentarily overlaid Mikhail's.

Despite his training his limbs refused to move: He froze. The vision blinked away though, and the whole of his reality shrank down to the bare metal around the locking lug set into the Gsh-18's muzzle.

This was it then?

He waited for the flash and the bang, but the moment seeming to drag on for forever and a second more until the ringing in his ears faded to a faint buzzing and a steadily slowing rush of pumping blood.

"You've come back to your senses then?"

Artur blinked, startled out of his stupor. He was still alive?

He processed the foreign words and blinked again. The voice asking the question was that of a young woman; a quiet, feminine voice accented with the rasp of disuse, but one he recognized. Artur forced himself to look up, beyond the gun and to the disheveled figure holding it: the Castaway.

She was in considerably worse shape than before: skin pasty with a faint shine, her breathing shallow, bloodshot eyes staring down at him through smudged glasses and half hidden behind a tangled curtain of long, curly black hair that hung limp around her expressionless face.

Whatever her appearance though, it did nothing to detract from the intensity of the stare she fixed him with or the unnatural aura of calm she exuded. His mind instinctually drew parallels to certain veterans he'd met—men who executed rebel fighters without a second thought, rather than take them prisoner.

"You're back… good. So, are we done," she asked, though the too calm tone of her voice and her focused expression told him it was anything but a question. His brain raced to catch up when she continued. "You're the last of your team, the rest are _dead_. It's just you that's left. Frankly, I'd rather not kill you if I don't have to, but if you insist on continuing to try to kill me then I'll end things now and save myself the trouble. What will it be? Do I need to kill you, or _Are. We. Done?"_

Her words echoed in his head. He tried to answer her, but something held him back. Artur _knew_ this setup, had seen this exact scenario play out too many times for one twisted reason or another on both sides of the war. Those people who submitted had been gunned down where they knelt, left where they fell to feed the vultures and rats.

"I—" His throat flared with heat and he coughed. It felt like sandpaper was coating his throat and embraced the opportunity to hack, spit, and make a show of swallowing while creating and discarding ideas of how to get out of this that would only get him shot. "I do not —" Loosening his hold on the rifle, he made a show of coughing while gauging the distance to the pistol, recognizing only after a second look that she wasn't within arm's reach. His eyes flicked to the strange claw holding his rifle. Maybe he could make a grab for the claw—or the arm? His eyes followed it, pausing on the clearly mechanical joints, back to where it emerged from under her poncho. Whatever it was, it had to be attached to something. A harness maybe? If he pulled it hard enough, could he unbalance her and roll away before she fired?

"I apologize," he began again, "My American, it is noot—"

"It's good enough, I think," she countered, cutting him off before he could commit to an attack. "You did try getting me to surrender back in the forest, didn't you? What happened to your 'scout's honor', _Artur Yurievich_? Have you forsaken it or did it even exist in the first place?"

Her question and the use of his name brought him up short as she threw them at him like they were physical things. For an instant her comment about his honor almost made him lash out but he remained on the ground, though this time weighted down by the inadvertent truth behind her accusation. He _had tried_ , he'd done whatever he could whenever he could in that hellhole. But quickly enough the guilt was subsumed by a single, immediately relevant question: _How had she known his name?_

He couldn't imagine how she knew about his offer unless she had a partner, and knowing his name all but confirmed the cowboy's suspicion of her being a spy. But he couldn't do anything about that and if anything it made his situation even more precarious.

Swallowing, Artur nervously licked his lips and, meeting her gaze, he acknowledged that stalling wasn't going to work. Ducking his head while maintaining eye contact, he slowly slipped the rifle's sling over his head and the claw moved it to the small of her back before another emerged from beneath her golden poncho to help hold it.

"And your sidearm. Use your left hand," she calmly ordered.

He met her gaze and nodded. "Da. I unter'stand."

Awkwardly reaching across himself, Artur slowly and carefully pulled the snap-clasp on his thigh holster when something interrupted the light coming in through from the doorway. After what had happened, he automatically homed in on the movement despite what was happening and… and… Artur stared into the roiling cloud of darkness that was pouring in through the entrance.

This time there were no whispers at the edge of his hearing, no voices given to the rightful recriminations and condemnations that lurked in his mind. But the blackness was amorphous now, no longer constrained to seeping along the ground or imitating human form. Like the hand of some monster closing around them, swelling with every second, snuffing out the light.

And at the center of its palm, unperturbed by the darkness surrounding her, the Castaway stood until it seemed to blend and merge with her form. She did nothing but stare down at him with the same unflinching, expressionless intensity. Then her lips moved and two words came forth.

 _"Drop it."_

The voice of the jungle spoke with her in a horrific echo of human speech made up of buzzing, chirps, and clicks.

No. She wasn't a spy. She wasn't even human. She was the darkness: what had given voice to his inner demons, what he'd given the offer of surrender to, what had encroached on them back in the clearing… and what had come to save him?

"Vat… Vat are you?" His eyes widened an instant after the question left his lips, but it had been said.

He swallowed and locked his jaw lest he open his mouth again and stay something even more stupid.

Staring down at him, a tense moment passed where the darkness seemed to grow and he thought at any moment it would crash down upon him, smothering him for the slight as it grew ever more oppressive. Then all of a sudden the atmosphere shifted, her inscrutable countenance cracked: She blinked. Once, twice, then rapidly as if something had gotten in her eyes.

Held at gunpoint as he was, or perhaps because of it, he could see the change come over her. A gradual thing, but whatever energy fueled her intensity seemed to leave her as the stoicism fell away and in its place emerged a bleak look of despair he'd seen so much of in the hospital. It was the look of someone recognizing that they'd lost something irreplaceable.

Even the darkness enclosing them seemed to retreat to a degree.

Whatever effect his slip of the tongue may have had on her, however, it hadn't been enough to make her drop her guard, and Mikhail's pistol remained steady.

 _"One last time_ ," she said, this time speaking solely in buzzes, chirps, and clicks. " _Drop it."_

Nodding again, Artur reached to draw his pistol but found himself already holding it, and in his right hand. He quickly placed it on the leaf-strewn floor and slid it away. Then he put his hands up and leaned back on his pack for good measure. There was nothing he could do against her. It. Whatever the being, thing, or entity before him was.

"I do as say. Am done. I surrender." He'd offered it to her in earnest, and she'd returned it.

At the word 'surrender', a hole in the darkness opened and several large beetles buzzed around him, moving in formation like a squadron of bombers before landing like a flight of gunships and then taking off again. It was almost strange enough to make him forget the darkness and the castaway's connection.

Her eyes narrowed, and the skin around them tightened slightly. "You really aren't like the other one, are you," she said in a slow, musing tone. "The big guy I mean. I half expected you to try something by now."

Artur blinked at the non-sequitur and looked back to her. The 'big guy'? Did she mean Mikhail— _no_ , of course she did, there was no one else she could be referring to with that description. Him being like Mikhail though... just entertaining the notion did nothing but highlight the vast gulf in capability between the two of them enough to make him half smile in awkward bemusement. He shot at people from afar, whereas Mikhail… _didn't_. Where Artur's place was in overwatch, covering the flank and providing supporting fire, Mikhail was the one breaking down doors and clearing rooms one by one.

He could only answer her with a simple, "Niet."

She said nothing more, seemingly falling into introspection and the silence drew on until his arms began to shake from holding them up. Artur looked down to the pistol and glanced back up to her. "Pleese?"

Not responding, she stared down at him a few moments more before stepping back several paces and stowing the pistol beneath her golden poncho before walking past him. At the same time the looming darkness began dissipating, as if nothing more than smoke in the wind.

Seeing it happen however, and backlit as the mass thinned enough for light from the door to shine through, some of the mystery was banished as he was able to see the darkness as nothing but bugs. 'Nothing', of course, being hundreds of thousands, _millions_ , of bugs so densely packed together and moving with such coordination that they appeared solid even as they skittered and flew away at the behest of a master he and Mikhail had been trying to kill.

His eyes tracked one bug as it flew away while carrying another, then another, and another. The terror quickly returned, and as the magnitude of that sank in he stopped trying to track the insects in favor of watching the mass disappear.

Mercifully, the faint scraping of metal being dragged across stone drew his attention. He looked right and saw his pistol, now partially wrapped in thread and being dragged away by neat formations of palm-sized beetles pulling lengths of fine thread that… His eyes locked onto the thread being pulled and the wrapping around his sidearm, watching how it glittered ever so faintly in the dim light... just as the gossamer webbing that had gotten into his and Mikhail's guns had.

Artur slowly twisted to look over his shoulder and stared at the girl, now standing at the foot of a curving staircase with her back turned to him.

Distantly he recognized the metal and wood construction from the files, and only at that moment realized that she had brought him to the Visitors Center. But the realization was secondary to the one that came from seeing the thread: If he checked the other guns, would he find more of the same?

Any further thought on the matter was brought to an immediate halt as several large, multi-legged somethings emerged from her hair: Spiders, a half dozen of them and each as large as his hand, with poisonous yellow bodies spotted with black. They walked along the black curls on narrow legs, across the back of her head, and down the long black hair to where it reached her lower back; picking away detritus stuck in the locks, untangling dark strands... _grooming her_.

For as normal as she looked, he had to remind himself that she wasn't human. She _couldn't_ be human. She may look it, but nothing human could do what he'd seen her do that day.

Artur forced himself to look away, but in doing so he looked back to the open door—and to the jungle beyond. In an instant, he relived the attack and the seed of dread that had been planted back in the small clearing took root. With the way the Commander's pack had burst apart, his kit spilling out onto the ground… _had the slugs damaged anything important?_

Artur slowly rose to his feet, and with single-minded focus stepped toward the door. His leg buckled and gave out from under him, but stumbling forward he managed to catch himself on the door frame and prop himself up. The pain was a distant thing and he looked out over a stagnant pond, searched between the trees lining the drive for where he thought they had entered the jungle under their Commander's instruction… at the behest of their client.

Their client, the reckless _cowboy_ whose people had been the ones to handle their travel documents and transport; whom he and the others had been tasked with keeping alive; and who was now nothing more than a disemboweled carcass in the middle of the jungle.

Artur staggered forward another step, but before he could cross the threshold a light touch to his shoulder made him stop. He turned and the girl was standing there, somehow having approached without him noticing.

Brow furrowed in a look of concern, she drew her hand back and glanced outside then back again. "Sorry, but whatever you're planning you're not going out there. I didn't go through the trouble of saving you just to see you get yourself killed."

Artur blinked. "I do not unter'stand."

Her lips parted and she paused for a second before letting out a weary, exhausted sigh that should have come from a person thrice her age before soldiering on. "What happened back there actually happened. I'm sorry, but your friends are dead."

The words were blunt, to the point, and she stared at him as if expecting some reaction.

It took a moment, but it dawned on him that she must think that he was in shock. Understandable, but wrong. "No. I see vat haep'pen, boot I need…" Leaving the sentence open-ended, he actually took a moment to consider what he needed. He needed the satellite phone. He needed to find some way of getting home before his leave came up and he was declared a deserter... But right now he needed to do something about the remains so they could be laid to rest. It wouldn't be right to just leave them.

"I need to care for remains. Lay to rest and gaz'er effects."

Despite them coming together only out of circumstance, some sense of comradery had developed among the group and Mikhail had never been less than courteous. He— _they_ , didn't deserve to be left out there to rot and be picked apart by the wildlife. Nobody deserved that.

She peered at him searchingly before sighing. "I understand," she said solemnly. "However, I have questions that I need answers to and right now you're the only one left that can answer them." She inclined her head to the jungle beyond. "If I bring back your stuff and take care of your friends' remains, will you cooperate and answer those questions for me?"

"Zat is... generous offer," Artur hedged. "I vill answer vataver questions you have— Ef can," he quickly amended. "As apology, da? Boot… Must do myself. Is rest'pons'ability."

As he finished, she grimaced at something then looked back out at the jungle, her eyes staring into nothing for a moment before a look of... resignation?... flashed across her face. He couldn't be sure, it was gone so quickly he might have only imagined it. "I can understand the sentiment," she said, turning back to him. "But do you seriously think you're in any shape to go back out there?"

Their eyes met, then she looked down at his legs—or _leg_ , rather, and Artur self-consciously shifted at her mention of his injury. But he couldn't deny the truth of what she said. "No."

Simply nodding, she turned away without another word and, gesturing for him to follow, headed deeper into the building.

He refrained from automatically obeying her, but as she drew further away his leg gave him a prompting throb. What she was was still in question, she acted human once he had acquiesced to her demands, but even so… he couldn't deny considering the impulsive idea of turning and running, but he swallowed his fear and followed.

The first few steps were fine, but once past the foot of the stairs his leg began throbbing in time with nearly every step. It wasn't debilitating, the pain was a familiar one, but the deep-rooted pulsing convinced him he needed to listen to his body and slow his pace lest he aggravate the injury any further.

Fortunately, noticing him falling behind but not taking offense, the… girl, stopped at the doorway interrupting the mural of dinosaurs grazing (he ignored the velociraptor's painted eyes following him) and held the door.

"Thank you," he muttered out of reflex, and in Russian, but she nodded along anyway.

As he fell into step beside her, she led him through a ruined restaurant with an attached patio leading out to the jungle that had exposed the interior to the elements. Patches of moss and other plants were growing up in places, between the shattered chairs and toppled tables, or growing out of mold blackened seat cushions. Several small birds took flight as they made their way through, fleeing through the spaces left by shattered floor-to-ceiling window frames and disappearing into the trees just outside.

"I'm going to need you to stay here," she stated, stopping at a door leading from the room and turning to him. "For the time being at least. It's the safest place in the building. The door is solid, so if anything comes by and I'm not around to handle it, you'll be fine."

Artur glanced between the door and her before nodding. "I unter'stand."

Turning the handle and stepping back to push open the door, she stepped away and held it while he hobbled through and, taking in the kitchen with a glance, almost stopped as he was greeted with the sight of a large, nearly untouched kitchen that appeared as if it were last used only yesterday: The stoves were clean, shelves organized with various tubs and containers needing to be filled, and the counters bare or covered with cooking paraphernalia just waiting to be put away.

The room reminded him of a time capsule, bringing back memories of similar examples that he'd encountered while ascending apartment buildings in search of vantage points or while on clearing operations. But he didn't linger on the memories of perfectly preserved living rooms. Here, there was nothing symbolic or important. It was just a kitchen.

Eyes roving about the room, he moved over to the closest counter—incidentally the one running parallel a wall with a number of narrow windows and vine entangled vents running its length, making it the best lit area in the large room. Shrugging off his pack and dropping it onto the steel surface, he brushed a thumb over a patch of rust and, looking around again, he revised his assessment. The usual signs of decay brought on from abandonment were present, just not as prominent as they should've been; rust and corrosion had pitted and stained the metal surfaces throughout the room, and along the walls there were signs of water damage, but there was curiously little in the way of mold or dust. Considering how long the structure had been left to rot though, as well as the climate and the state of the building as far as he'd seen, the room was remarkably well preserved.

Artur's gaze settled on a counter toward the center that had several sorted piles of what could best be described as 'stuff' laid out on it. Evidently, this was where she had been hoarding whatever salvage might've been useful… with a rather broad definition of 'useful'.

The door squealed shut behind him and he glanced back to see her throw the front of the poncho back over one shoulder, like it was a cape. Beneath he saw she wore a form-fitting black bodysuit with segmented white armor… and her stump. Seeing it raised a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to, but due to the relevancy of it he asked regardless.

"Eef may ask, vith arm, how plan to take care of remains?" She gave him an inquiring look, but as it wasn't one of condemnation or reproach, he continued, "Cannoot burn, and deeg too shallow it do no good. So vat do you plan?"

She looked at him, absently tucking back the cape-poncho with her one hand before rubbing the stump in what seemed a self-conscious way. "I... don't plan on burying them, or burning them," she said, hesitating slightly. She gave an absent wave, and a small cloud of insects gathered around her. In the large room, their wing beats were a low, humming buzz before dissipating.

He shifted uncomfortably at the implied explanation but nodded in resigned understanding.

Climate depending, a deer carcass could be picked clean over a matter of days by scavengers and the like. Of course, that was with larger animals doing much of the work, but with her seemingly absolute command over insects, he doubted it would take very long at all.

It was certainly an ignoble way of treating someone's remains, of that there was no doubt, but he had seen far worse done to bodies with no one to properly lay them to rest. A priest would be incensed, but pragmatism won out when otherwise the result would be the remains being scattered over several square kilometers by the wildlife.

"I see. Zat is... better zan nothing."

"Better than nothing," she echoed in agreement, an odd look on her face before she frowned. "I'm not sure how long this'll take, but once I have everything I'll let you out to get what you need. OK?"

There was little he could do but agree, what else was he going to do? She turned away and moved deeper into the kitchen.

Watching her walk toward the far end of the room, he found his hand brushing over his Dragunov and considered how secure she must feel in her position that she didn't even consider him a threat. He quickly disabused himself of that line of thinking, though. It was the kind of stupidly suicidal thought that only the addled would ever follow through with. He'd probably be choking on spiders before he even put her between his crosshairs.

Unfortunately, the thoughts lingered long enough that, instead of trying to think of what he was going to do when the pickup came, he transitioned into wondering about what might have happened were he using the larger rifle rather than the Vintorez. It was a 'what if' hypothetical of something that was already done, though, and few good things ever came from that sort of woolgathering. Again, he forced himself to move on. Pulling the velcro straps lashing the rifle to the side of his pack, he quickly dropped the butt onto the counter—lest she got the wrong idea—and ejected the magazine. Setting it aside, he habitually pulled back the bolt to eject a round that wasn't in the chamber… only for it to jam.

The previous musing rushed back and Artur could do little but stare at the steel bolt handle, stuck halfway open as it failed to cycle.

So that was the answer then, he'd be dead with the rest of them.

Unbidden, Artur saw himself back in the clearing, trying to use his primary weapon, it jamming as he tried to fire on the leaping dinosaur—the velociraptor, he corrected—and failing. If he'd gone with what he knew and was more familiar with, more _comfortable with_ , then the last thing he'd've ever seen would've been teeth while he tried drawing his sidearm.

Maybe there was something to take away from that, something about not automatically reverting to what's comfortable, but… Artur shoved the thought away, looking up to where the girl was pulling down several grey tubs from a shelf at the other end of the room.

It was sobering. Beyond the pure brute force that her command over insects gave her, the realization that subtlety wasn't beyond her was even more frightening. After all, no one notices the fly on the wall or an ant on the floor… or the venomous spider poised to bite a carelessly placed hand.

Artur watched her meander back to one of the piles, then grab a bundle of stained, yellowed fabric and place it in a tub before gathering them up under one arm. He absently counted the edges: three tubs, for three far larger corpses. The tubs to hold the bones, and the fabric to wrap them… a crude facsimile of a coffin, but one that would have to do.

Here he was just standing there while people he'd spend every day of the last few weeks with were about to be eaten by bugs. What was he supposed to do? What _could_ he do?

Artur's leg throbbed at that moment, as if to tell him there _was_ nothing he could do. His fingers tightened around his rifle until they hurt.

Was he really just going to stay here and… do what, unpack? He should do _something,_ but...

Sighing, he set the rifle down and when the magazines in his vest clicked and clacked, he glanced down at the pouches and, undoing the buckles, shrugged it off.

He initially didn't pay any mind to her returning, instead he let himself be immersed into the mundane task of unloading his vest and mentally taking stock. He knew what had, he'd picked out and curated the majority of their kit, but the routine would hopefully distract him for a bit. The door creaked open as he set aside a pair of pliers and moved on to the next pocket. But when his hand settled on the black antenna sticking out of the pouch, he realized there was still something he could do.

"Vait!" He called out, turning in time to see her halfway out the door. Maybe he couldn't do anything to help her deal with something should have been _his_ responsibility, but if she wanted to question him while she did so then… then it would be _something_.

She turned, using the toe of her boot to keep the door from closing.

He hid his nervousness at suddenly being the focus of her attention by pulling the blocky, multi-band radio out of its pocket and holding it up for her to see. "All hayve. Ef 'ave questions, I can answer? Or ef somzing haep'pen?"

She looked at it before nodding. "I'll grab one."

"And... name? Ef contact. Pro'per proto'call."

At that, she stopped again and was quiet for several seconds. She stared into nothing, seemingly lost in thought before refocusing on him with that intense state.

"It's Taylor, Taylor Hebert," she said, looking at him searchingly as she answered. Whatever she was looking for though, she didn't seem to find it, and he just barely caught the slump of her shoulders as she turned away and the door swung shut.

* * *

 _Damn being safe._

It wasn't the first time he'd thought it, and it likely wouldn't be the last before the day was out.

Blinking against the sweat stinging his eyes, Artur blindly replaced the dust cover on the newly operational Kalash and set it aside with the other guns on his right. Still unable to see, his hand briefly scrabbled about the counter behind him in search of his towel. Finding it, he dabbed at his eyes before mopping his brow and neck while blinking away the last remnants.

His lips twisted into a grimace and, again for not the first time, Artur looked to the top of the opposite wall and the narrow windows placed near the ceiling, the hacked away remnants of the vines that had entangled the fans interspaced between them.

Artur considered breaking them to increase the airflow in the room but refrained—probably wouldn't do much in any case.

It hadn't been immediately obvious, maybe because it had still only been mid-morning when she'd locked him in here, but once the sun had begun rising higher and higher, so too had the heat. He'd been forced to gradually shed layer after layer as the hours had dragged on—which in turn had opened him up to attack from swarms of mosquitoes whenever the girl had left.

Clearing out the fans had helped, but without anything to power them the effect had been marginal at best and done little in the long term. The circulation was still abysmal, and the temperature was too damn high. He was coping as best he could, and he _had_ adapted to the climate somewhat during the time they'd spent on the mainland, but with the still air that meant little.

Exhaling sharply, he sat up and once more reached back to the guns he'd piled on the countertop... only to grab at thin air. Briefly, his fingers brushed over a Kalashnikov's polymer buttstock, but he moved on, absently feeling around for the other guns he knew should be there. However, his fingers only found purchase on rough cross-hatching carved into a pistol grip. He knew that grip. Pulling it down, Artur found himself holding the Commander's obrez Mosin… which had been at the bottom.

Artur twisted to look at where the girl had helped him pile the assortment of arms once she'd brought them back. He'd expected to see at least a few rifles that were just out of reach, but instead saw that the only thing remaining was one of the Kalashnikovs. Somehow, he'd worked his way through servicing the small surplus of arms without realizing it.

It wasn't even that he'd lost track of time, just a matter of moving from one gun to the next and settling into a steady, methodical pace as each weapon was stripped down, inspected, cleaned, and reassembled… The rote process had been a relaxing bit of normalcy, and it had been a nice distraction while it'd lasted.

Lips quirking, he hummed in the back of his throat and glanced right to consider the row of cleaned guns. It had kept him occupied, but now that he was almost done… He'd decide what to do once he reached that point.

Returning to his self-imposed task, he took a few seconds to examine the cut down rifle with a critical eye, mentally comparing it to those he'd known of back home. Those had been crudely made though, their barrels and stocks cut down with haste—or in one case removed from the stock entirely, the barrel cut back to the receiver, and a carved pistol grip attached. Rushed efforts to keep them from being confiscated by the Commissariat as the realities of the new regime were realized.

The Commander's was less an attempt at hiding a gun, and more about making a functional weapon. It struck a balance between the two versions he knew of, having been cut down all the way to the receiver and a pistol grip added, but also having furniture that extended to the mouth of the barrel. It even had a sight, even if it was only a BB soldered to the barrel, and the bolt had been cut and rewelded at a ninety-degree angle so it was flush with the stock.

Turning it over and gripping it by the bit of stock beneath the few centimeters left of the barrel, he tested his hold on it and its feel in his hand. Then in one smooth motion, his hand slid into place to catch the bolt handle between his thumb and forefinger, and he racked it over and back. He'd expected to have to catch the spent brass as it was ejected, but when a shell casing wasn't flung back at him he halfheartedly peered down into the magazine in the vain hope there might be the glint of unspent cartridges within. There was nothing though, just an empty magazine with a leaf spring rising up from the floorplate.

Artur sucked his teeth and grimaced. "So, she thought to look in here as well did she?"

Staring down into the empty space Artur felt something... not _quite_ disappointment, but close enough to leave the same bitter aftertaste. Sighing, he got to work and pulled the bolt from the receiver. Grabbing a pipe cleaner off the counter, he set about ramming the brass bottle-brush into what was left of the barrel to remove what he could of whatever powder residue may have remained—just in case the load had been corrosive surplus.

It was a few minutes later, as he was blowing out the barrel, that the incessant buzzing from the mosquitos constantly swarming him suddenly faded, then disappeared entirely.

Stopping and sitting up, Artur listened… but there was nothing, nothing but the old building's creaks and groans along with the outside background noises, that is. Looking to a shelf across from him, his eyes settled on an overturned glass with a small cockroach trapped within. Rather than skittering around and bumping against the glass as it had been for the past however many hours, it was unnaturally still.

Artur watched it for a bit, just to confirm it wasn't a fluke, but when he finished counting off thirty seconds, then a minute, he knew for sure that she was back.

But for how long?

His attention lingered on the glass, but eventually, he tore his gaze away and forced himself to get back to work. After all, what point was there in waiting to see if she was here to stay when she'd been coming and going all day? Although, while it wouldn't hurt to get things started prematurely save for the room getting a little hotter, if he was wrong the waiting was likely to play hell on his nerves… Artur glanced back to the glass and, seeing the roach was still stationary, decided that he'd start getting things together once he was done with the Mosin.

The mosquitos hadn't been under her control since about noon though, the longest time she had been gone yet—presumably, assuming his observation on how to keep track of her comings and goings was correct.

Soon enough, however, he was setting aside the hand cannon and _again_ his attention drifted back to the glass. The roach was still there, and still calm… although at some point it had turned toward him. Was she watching him? Probably.

His gaze shifted to a shelf beside the roach's and from among other pieces of kit, picked out the broken, twisted lump of plastic and rubber that had been the satellite phone. Artur didn't even want to think about whether or not the Cowboy's associates on the mainland were trying to contact their boss or not… and what their reaction might be to not getting through. The scheduled pickup should still be coming, the commander had _insisted_ on that regardless—just in case they were unable to make contact.

But... recalling some of the Cowboy's conversation had planted the seeds of doubt. If his associates believed there was a hostile force waiting for them on the island, would they still come?

It was a question that _gnawed_ at him, but that was a scenario he didn't even want to consider and it became just one more thing lurking in the back of his mind.

Staring at the roach for a long moment, Artur cast caution to the wind and stood. It was time to get dinner started.

Rising, his feet carried him over to his cooking area and he set about emptying a pot of rehydrated beef—left to soak ever since the basics of a plan had come together some eight hours ago—into a larger, medium-sized pot that could hold the vegetables once it was time to add them. A bit more water was added, packets of seasonings were torn open and stirred in, and the pot was carefully balanced atop the little gas burner he'd been responsible for carrying and set to boil.

It was an ungainly assembly, what with the pot being a bit larger than what the burner was meant for, but it seemed like it would work fine. Once he was sure the setup wouldn't topple over, Artur grabbed the Kalash off the counter and, dropping down onto the plastic crate he'd been using as a stool, got back to work.

Pinching the rifle's foregrip between his knees and thumbing the release at the back of the receiver to remove the dust cover, Artur leaned in close to examine the internals and was soon plucking out lengths of fine, glimmering thread from the bolt carrier and spring.

He balled the sticky, grease-covered thread between his fingers and flicked it away with a grimace.

It was only the first point of failure he'd found in the weapon's mechanisms, but it was the fifteenth overall out of the thirteen guns that had been brought along and he would no doubt find another fault before he closed it up. Their sidearms, primary and secondary weapons; none had been spared from her sabotage, no matter that she had done it _while_ fleeing.

Pulling a penlight from behind his ear, Artur clicked it on and shone the light down into the trigger assembly.

For a few minutes more he searched, looking for the telltale glimmer of her sabotage within the mechanical workings. Eventually, deciding it was as clean as he could discern without a full tear down, Artur reassembled the weapon and checked that the bolt cycled properly. Twisting in his seat, he turned to his right and, gently dropping the butt to the floor, leaned it against the countertop alongside the others.

He looked at the row of rifles and pile of pistols and something about the sight of them all together began gnawing at him. His job during the latter preparation stages had been to familiarize himself with the South American flora and fauna, in addition to the unique species that they might encounter on the island. However, looking at all of the weapons together, even knowing they hadn't been enough, they seemed a bit... _much_.

Artur tried following the train of thought, but he lost it and with a concerted effort he shook off the feeling as irrelevant. After all, he'd serviced the guns and cleared them all so they were ready to fire, but you needed ammo for that and ammo wasn't something he had on hand.

That girl, even with her ability to disable their weapons, had been very, _very_ thorough in finding every single round that they had brought with them. When she'd let him out to get what he'd wanted, the plan _had been_ to grab a few spare rounds to manually cycle through guns, to make sure they were operational, but there'd been none. Every magazine, recharging clip, box of shells, and spare round that'd been stowed away in their bags had been gone.

A little annoying, if understandable: they'd shot at her, so even if she had a hard counter to their guns, why not just keep it from happening again?

Really, he couldn't even get angry over the fact that she'd slipped away without him noticing and made off with the magazines and loose cartridges for his own weapons that he'd oh-so-helpfully left out. Naturally, in retrospect, he should have realized something was off when she brought him to the lobby and he'd found the floor swept with all their kit and equipment sorted out into neatly organized piles.

So cautious, despite that, when it came down to it, their effort to kill her may as well have been nothing but a bit of strenuous exercise on her part.

He'd almost say it was a sign of paranoia, if not for it not being paranoia when people were—or _had been_ —actually out to kill you.

Grimacing, Artur glanced over to the lidded pot and the blue flame dancing beneath it.

With any luck, it could serve as an olive branch, something that could serve to open some level of amiable dialogue between them. It wasn't much, but for now it was all he had to offer her and he _needed_ to develop a modicum of trust if he wanted to get out of this place intact... Mentally, at least.

Lips twisting even further, his hand came up to nervously scratch at the coarse stubble along his jaw and he leaned back to rest his neck against the counter's cool metal edge.

Practically speaking, he had no reason to think he couldn't survive here—in the building that is—for the week they had meant to stay here until the scheduled pickup came. But it was the prospect of staying here with no one but himself for company that gave him pause.

On returning to the lobby to get what he'd needed, he'd been more... conscious, _aware_ , of the building than the first time around. Contrary to what the team had thought in picking it as basecamp, the place wasn't secure in the slightest. He'd barely had to look to find places where the building was wide open. The patio right outside the restaurant was one glaring point of entry— _it_ let out right into the jungle!—and apparently, an entire wall in the lobby was just... _not there_. If the tattered plastic sheeting he'd glimpsed beneath the vines was any indication, it hadn't even been finished.

When she'd said the kitchen was the safest place in the building, she'd been right. Really though, aside from the roof—which he couldn't even guess the condition of—it was likely more accurate to say it was the _only_ secure place in the building.

Even assuming he managed to secure the rest of the building and give himself some breathing room, that still left him confined to it for an entire week. Staying here alone, by himself, with nothing but his thoughts and the bones to keep him company for an entire week? Framed like that, the prospect of staying here wasn't a pleasant one. And that wasn't taking into account the possibility that the girl wouldn't return any of the ammo she took, as without a few shotgun shells he couldn't properly set the perimeter alarms or even defend himself if something tripped them.

So realistically, if he were to stay here, he would have to hole up in the kitchens for the whole week. It was doable, but only just. There was no telling what condition he'd be in at the end. So while may not have _needed_ her help, he wanted it. Just being in someone else's company—even someone such as her, no matter _what_ she was—would be preferable...

Artur jerked upright at the sound of rattling metal, his head snapping around in time to see that the stew was only seconds away from boiling over, murky froth already bubbling up from under the lid. The crate was kicked away as he bolted over to the small stove and in his haste, a bit of broth spilled out onto his hand when he took it off the burner—only realizing as it happened that he could've just turned off the gas.

Teeth grit against the light burn and faint jolts that he only then recognized as coming from his leg, he carefully set down the pot to keep from spilling any more. Shifting his weight to one leg, Artur brought the hand to his mouth and sucked at the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger. It was only after staring down at the pot for nearly a minute that he processed what had happened.

 _Why had it been about to boil over_?

Pulling his hand away and resorting to ignoring the slight burn, he looked to the inside of his wrist to check the time… half an hour?

Artur brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at the dial. The position of the hands didn't change, and the second hand ticked steadily along.

His hand slowly lowered to rest on the counter and he tried to think of an explanation, but... Had he really been sitting there for _half an hour_? By the metrics that he could check: yes, he _had_.

Disquieted, Artur absently reached out for the pot of vegetables while taking the lid off the pot to check if the beef was still edible despite his lapse. A cloud of rich, hearty smelling steam billowed out at the same time he picked up a too-light pot, and once it cleared he saw the pool of brown broth already chock full of pale and orange vegetable chunks with cubes of beef scattered throughout.

He racked his brain trying to remember getting up and adding the other pot... but Artur _knew_ he hadn't. The last thing he'd done was finish servicing the guns, but now the stew was ready and… he turned to check the doors letting into the kitchen and saw the small stacks of pots he'd leaned against both were still standing.

Stepping back to lean against the shelf, Artur could do little but stare at the pot and wonder what _else_ he'd lost.

Eventually, he withdrew from his rumination and, ignoring the yawning pit in his stomach with an uncomfortably familiar ease, Artur picked up a spoon to sample what he'd made and found it cooked to satisfaction. If only it didn't turn to ash in his mouth.

Replacing the lid, he checked that the roach was still calm, and seeing that it was Artur reached for his radio on the next shelf over. While the girl hadn't taken him up on his offer, and he hadn't reached out, he was still fairly certain that she'd grabbed one of the radios like he'd suggested. His eyes were drawn back to the glass and the trapped cockroach though.

Initially, it had only been the mosquitos leaving en masse that he'd used as an indicator for when she had returned, the trapped beetle had come later during the prolonged interim period, but...

If she could speak through the insects under her command, then could she see and hear through them as well? It may have been a leap in logic based on little, it was one thing to say she could command insects and another to say they were an extension of her will—as ludicrous as the entire premise was—but he'd had plenty of time to think and it was the only thing that made sense. How else could she have known he could speak English if she hadn't been able to hear him speak it, or know his full name when Mikhail had spoken his first and the Commander his last? How else could she have interacted with him so well while Mikhail had been engaging her?

Putting the radio down, Artur stepped over to the glass and, more confidently than he really felt, he removed it to stare down at the bug. But the bug didn't skitter away: instead, after he stared down at it for a moment, it turned a little and angled itself as if to look up at him.

The corner of his mouth quirked up and the nervousness mostly vanished as his suspicions were proven correct. "As suspect. Ef do not mind, I vould like to speak vith you, Miss." He waved at to the steaming pot of stew. "Ve can talk over meal, da?"

There was no response, unnatural or otherwise, but he knew she'd heard him.

With little else to do but operate on the assumption that she had been listening—and would come down if she wasn't going to speak with her bugs—he removed pans from the doors and went about putting together a pair of functional place settings from what he could scrounge: a pair of plain white soup bowls, spoons large and small, glass cups, an unopened canteen for water, and disposable napkins sourced from his mess kit when he failed to find any. Maybe it was a bit much, but it kept him occupied until a series of irregular bumps at the door a few feet away nearly made him drop one of the bowls while wiping off the dust.

Artur kept cleaning the dishes to steady himself, and only once the door began creaking open did he turn toward it. But rather than seeing a normal-looking one-armed girl, his heart nearly stopped as he was greeted with the sight of a dog-sized abomination with too many legs lurking in the dark room beyond. With a body made up of dark, interlocking plates of mottled chitin that made up its flat back, wickedly barbed legs, and black eyes that glittered in the darkness of the room just beyond the door, it was a thing straight from nightmares.

His free hand twitched, instinctively reaching down to his thigh and the sidearm that wasn't there. Artur held himself back from overreacting though. Whatever this _thing_ being here could mean, it wouldn't do to offend her for trying to shoot what may just be a messenger.

Pushing the door open with a leg nearly two meters long until it locked in place, it scuttled into the kitchen; moving languidly on its ungainly legs before turning side-on at the end of his aisle and scuttling toward him.

He backed away as it approached and unconsciously tried to recall where some of the heavier, longer items in the kitchen were, but fortunately it stopped at the pot. After a few seconds moving back and forth, sticking a leg out over the pot for a moment, the thing rose up on its rear legs like it was an untrained hound trying to steal food off the counter. Angling itself forward, it looked down into the pot and he heard a faint buzzing. He looked away as a cloud of insects streamed in through the door before coalescing.

 _"It looks good, I appreciate it. But bring it up to the roof would you, more comfortable up here. If you follow the whiptail it will lead the way._ " At that, the cloud left before suddenly doubling back, _"Oh, and watch your step on the stairs."_

He said he would and thanked her for the warning, but the words were more automatic than in earnest. Instead, his attention was fixed on the spider-thing, watching it lower itself down and scuttle back to the door. The 'whiptail', as she had called it, wasn't the name of a spider, but the mangled name was enough to make him recall one of the more annoying footnotes he'd come across during his time spent acclimating on the mainland.

The issue had been in regards to a pair of arachnids: the Whip Scorpion and the Whip Spider. Despite their similar names, the two were radically different and it had been a headache correcting his notes after mixing up the two on more than one occasion. But, despite the naming issues, or perhaps because of them, it wasn't difficult to remember what the arachnids had _looked_ like. Comparing the depictions of the flat-bodied, spindly-legged Amblypygi, the Whip Spider, to this _thing_... he was _certain_ they were one and the same… somehow. The issue was that it was several magnitudes larger than should've been biologically possible.

Artur was hesitant at the idea of following the thing, but casting aside his fear he turned to consider the pot and place settings. It would take multiple trips, which he could do, but… Stepping away to grab his crate-stool, he packed everything in with room to spare and, picking it up, decided the contents had a little too much room to shift about. Grabbing things off the shelf he threw in another canteen, his battery lantern, a few packets of dehydrated fruit, and several extra odds and ends before picking it up again.

The whip spider was waiting, but as he neared it turned and sped away through the restaurant, nimbly skittering over the broken tables and scattered chairs.

Artur took a bit more time picking his way through the room and, reaching the lobby, he found it well lit by the other two lanterns they'd brought along. Somehow, the girl had suspended them a few meters above the neat piles she had sorted the contents of their packs into.

It wasn't the only change: The spider was moving about several large, opaque tubs and a hand-cart that hadn't been here earlier.

He stopped to wait, watching it pick through one of the tubs, withdraw a large metal mixing bowl, then move to another and dig out a yellow sponge and small towel. Dropping the items into the bowl, it carefully picked it up in a smaller pair of barbed forelegs and without a second look scuttled across the lobby and up the stairs.

Artur was quick to follow, but as the girl had warned him he was careful about the steps. Her words of caution proved fortuitous when he tentatively put his weight on the first step and it creaked dangerously beneath him. He ascended, mounting the stairs slowly, ready to drop the crate at the faintest sign the structure would collapse—diplomacy be damned. Still, he made it to the landing safely and found the whip spider waiting.

It allowed him a moment, but just as soon as he'd arrived it turned and departed.

Artur absently recognized the absurdity of the fact that he was following a thing of nightmares through an overgrown ruin, but any unfortunate reactions were kept in check by focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping over anything. He didn't have far to go and, turning down a short side hall, the spider disappeared into a nondescript door, behind which a narrow flight of stairs led to an open roof access hatch.

The spider was gone when he reached it, ascending with little issue apparently. But he hesitated and, remembering the stairs, warily examined the steep, narrow steps lit by the late-day sun shining in through the long hatch above. Artur didn't even want to think how well they had held up, but… there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't think about how they creaked and groaned as he ascended and found himself stopping as a gentle, soothing breeze blew over him, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea.

Glancing around, he turned and found the girl, _Taylor_ , sitting near a railing running the perimeter of the roof. The area around her had been swept bare of leaves and debris, exposing stained concrete beneath.

Sitting cross-legged on one of their bedrolls, she was stooped over as he approached her from behind. He moved slowly though, just in case she took umbrage… and because at some point since he'd last seen her, she'd changed out of her armored bodysuit and into a pair of black, indecently tight shorts and a telnyashka—which Artur could only assume had been one of Mikhail's spares due to how it hung off her like a short, pale blue and white striped dress.

It also gave him a good view of what else she'd taken from the kit they had brought along, namely the loaded holster strapped to her thigh. Her hand was lingering near it—Occupied with slowly tapping a pen against her knee, yes, but he didn't doubt for a moment that she could drop it and draw on him in a split second if he made any untoward moves.

She sat up as he approached, cracked her neck, and flipped shut a small black notebook and tossed it aside, where it drew his eye to a pile of other miscellanea. There were a number of their things in the pile, her poncho and bodysuit lying among them, as well as their map and the field guide he'd put together for the island, but what caught his eye was a slim backpack-type contraption with four mechanical arms and a quartet of wings like those of a dragonfly—although one of them was skewed, bent and not quite aligned with the others.

Soft tapping and the faint crunch of leaves behind him made him look back and see the spider coming up with the bowl still held in its forelegs. It approached slowly, and he could _feel_ its eyes on him, but then it passed him and set its cargo down among the items before moving away and settling down in the shade of the building.

Looking back over her shoulder, she gestured with her stump at the space across from her. Setting the crate down between them, he turned and carefully lowered himself onto the proffered spot while she started emptying it. Quickly enough, she was serving out measured amounts of stew with the ladle he'd thrown into the crate as an afterthought.

Artur watched her, slightly taken aback, but waited patiently as she served him and made up a bowl for herself.

A custom on her part perhaps, or… He watched her drop the ladle into the pot, replace the lid, and move it _well_ out of his reach.

Or, she didn't trust him to handle the food… which wasn't exactly reassuring.

The hearty scent of the stew wafted up to him, but he refrained, waiting for her to eat first since she had seemed so insistent on taken the initiative and serving the food. But instead she just idly stirred her stew, turning the spoon over and over. The entire time considering him with that too calm look… though, due to her staring, he noticed her eyes were red, almost pink, and the skin around them slightly puffy.

"So," she said, breaking the long, drawn-out silence, "you wanted to talk?"

—


	16. Chapter 16

C'est La Vie #04.1

A/N: Fun fact, this, the next snip, and the snip after that were outlined as one snip, but then my optimism let me down! Again! Also, might I just say that having such a large gap between working on something can make things so very, very, _complicated_.

Anyway, after much delay on my part, this is the beginning of Arc #02.

—

"What would be the harm," I muttered, absently swirling the lukewarm dregs of stew in my bowl.

I watched the as yellow light cast by the lantern threw harsh shadows around me and over the white porcelain, but my thoughts were on what was happening beneath me within the building. Through the enhanced vision of the whiptail I watched Artur Yurievich, one-time mercenary and "technically" (whatever that meant) still enlisted serviceman of the Russian Armed Forces, pick through the piles of equipment and supplies scattered throughout the lobby.

The sole surviving member of what _had_ been a four-man squad of heavily armed mercenaries plus their charge, a hunter. And it was my fault.

I stay one more night to satisfy my curiosity and this is what happens.

 _One more night._

Closing my eyes, the decisions I'd made and actions I'd taken throughout the past day that'd been simmering in the back of my mind came to the fore. Could I have done anything differently? Could I have done anything else? Yes, _but…_

With a resigned sigh, I slouched a bit, relaxing as I began reviewing the events of the past day; it didn't take long before I settled into a familiar pattern of reviewing, analyzing, and questioning what I had done and why.

It was something of a tedious process I'd been all but forced to develop during my time in the Wards. Useful, and a continuation of what I'd already been doing to some extent, but by and large it had been because of how close an eye was kept on me.

I'd had to give, and verbally submit, more after-action-reports during my first year in the Wards than I could remember and the self-critique process had come in handy at those times. Getting ahead of certain critics had made things easier for me when matters eventually came around to how I'd conducted myself in the field—regardless of what a given meeting had been about in the first place. It had happened less and less after the first six months, but whenever something serious enough happened… at some point, things would come around to what I could have done differently. But, more important than how I'd acted in the field, had been how I'd _reacted_.

It was that latter aspect of my AAR's that made the initial encounter particularly damning in retrospect.

Rushing in when the helicopter came flying in… that had been a _bad_ idea. The smart thing to do would've been to stay back and observe them from afar, take the mood and gauge how they might react to someone. At a minimum, I should've found out what they were here for and planned out what I was going to do before moving in. I should've had a plan ahead of time, rather than having to come up with something on the fly after things had already gone south.

But no, instead I rushed in, got too close, and got burned for it.

Everything that happened after that could, in one way or another, be traced back to that first poor decision.

If I had just announced myself when I'd been spotted, could things have turned out better? Maybe, I'd never know. Although considering that their employer _had_ ordered them to shoot, it likely wouldn't have gone well either way.

I was still for a long while, just sitting and picking over every little detail that could have changed the course of things one way or another, ruminating on what could have been.

 _Fuck that. Be rational._ Anger. Not mine, but a memory. A shiver ran down my spine.

 _Passenger?_

A few seconds passed. No response.

I shook my head to dispel my apprehension. It was just a vivid memory, my mind playing tricks, nothing more. I _wasn't_ turning into the monster again.

Still, the recollection was enough to snap me out of my pointless circling.

I sat up and glowered out at the darkening jungle for want of anything to focus on.

My fault? No. My inaction had played a role in their deaths, I wasn't going to deny that, but _they_ had been the ones to shoot first. What happened from there on was on them—Artur, at least, had been hesitant, but he had been the outlier.

I had accepted long ago that I couldn't save everyone and refused to become dragged down by misplaced guilt, especially for people who had been trying to kill me.

A bit of that fire faded as my new, overly large, sleeveless undershirt fell down around my shoulders.

Frustrating as it was, I couldn't help but feel _some_ culpability for what happened. Some, not much, but that feeling of complicity was compounded by the fact that their deaths had turned into a windfall for myself.

One day, I was running low on food and water, had been worried about finding a way to start a fire and gathering more information on the island I'd been interred on, and so, _so_ , many other things. Then, in less than an hour, my fortunes had been all but reversed. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I now had a sizable supply of food, water, and more survival equipment than I could've ever needed or had a use for.

I was using one of their lanterns for light, reading over their intel on the island, and wearing their spare clothes.

I was _set_ , I'd gotten everything I could've wanted and more when I set out from the radio bunker.

I had everything I needed to establish myself, and all it had taken was an unwillingness to expose myself and the preparations of Artur's people acting against my anemic attempts at discreetly protecting them.

I sighed.

Of course, in all likelihood, they'd have gotten themselves killed anyway considering their boss' complete lack of situational (and self) awareness. I knew that, but it still nagged at me.

The tear gas though, of all the things they could've used it had been _that_. It'd certainly been effective, just not against what they'd intended to use it against. The stuff may not have dispersed very well, but the concentrations of gas had all but decimated the more susceptible species in my swarm. Unfortunately for them, those species had made up the majority, the filler.

If I'd recognized the silver grenades for what they were, things likely would have ended differently. Then again, recalling how quickly things had been flipped on their head, their formation breaking, falling to friendly fire… _Shit happens_.

And the irony of it all was that, in the end, my fears of being identified and hunted for what I'd done were unfounded. My attempts at discretion hadn't even mattered. Well, they _did_ , but now for an entirely different reason; I'd be hunted for what I _was_ if it word ever got out, rather than what I'd _done_.

That said, there was only one person left that could tell anyone, and from what I had gathered he seemed more interested in getting home than anything else. Besides, even if he did talk, it would require someone _believing him_. It would be the word of a mercenary who'd seen his squad die all around him. Anything out of the ordinary would likely be put down as trauma-induced insanity, or something his brain had come up with so he could cope.

No, it would be easier to say they'd been eaten… which was even the truth, in a sense.

My stomach clenched as I forced myself to swallow the... _unpleasant_ memory of what I'd done.

I just sat there for a bit; not thinking, but distracting myself with feeding some of my swarm's filler species to the resident bat colony.

Eventually the memory was forgotten amidst watching the little mammals swoop after mosquitos and I sat up a bit, wincing as I straightened my neck. Ignoring the aches and pains from having been sitting for so long, I rolled my neck, stretched out and re-crossed my legs, and settled back on my new bedroll. There were a few more twinges from the bruising along my abused ribs as I shifted about, but the pain was only a minor annoyance at this point.

I glanced down at my bowl and sighed.

The dinner had been a brief affair, unfortunately, though not entirely without good reason. Once both of us had asked what we wanted of the other—or the most pressing and pertinent questions, at least—the atmosphere had become too… _awkward_. That was a good word for it, even if it didn't come close to encompassing the complexities of it. It had been like he hadn't known how to act around me. He seemed afraid to do anything out of turn, as if it might set me off and I would unleash my swarm upon him.

That was a few hours ago, and in that time I'd gorged myself on something that _wasn't_ berries and mentally ran myself ragged trying to decide what to do. Artur on the other hand… I checked in on him again and saw the man still sitting at the foot of the stairs in the lobby, working at a piece of wood with a little carving knife.

A hobby, a _distraction_. Save for the few times he'd gotten up to get something or relieve himself, he had been at it ever since filling up the heavy grey dish tubs containing what remained of his compatriots with dirt and performing what I assumed were some sort of improvised funeral rites.

We'd only finished off our first servings before he excused himself, citing a need to see to his compatriots' remains.

Raising the bowl to my lips, I finished what was left before setting it aside with the much emptier pot. It _had_ been full enough to feed four, or two others after our first servings. Now it was almost empty.

I make one appreciative comment about the meal and mention only having eaten berries for the past week, to try and break the ice, and suddenly he's all but forcing little packets of dried fruit on me to get my vitamin levels back into balance while insisting I have as much of the stew as I wanted.

Evidently, my eating nothing but berries in the time I'd been on this island had been a rather horrifying revelation to him—even _after_ clarifying that I'd only been here for a little over a week. Like, ok, all things considered, it wasn't a _bad_ reaction per se. I hadn't exactly had many other choices at the time though, I'd known what I was doing and the risks involved and had been expecting the side effects of that dietary faux-pas to rear its ugly head at any point in the past few days. That particular issue hadn't arisen though, _fortunately_ , and now I _wouldn't_ be forced to take my chances with whatever tropical bacteria or parasites might be present in the local wildlife.

A bit of food poisoning would've been the _least_ of my worries in that regard.

Interestingly though, for a brief period after that, his awkwardness was forgotten as he lectured me on the necessity of proper dietary intake in an increasingly thick Russian accent. He'd gone on about it for a fair while, and while I'd known what he told me about to one degree or another, having learned it from the PRT's physical trainers, or while figuring out what the people in my territory had needed, I'd just let him talk.

I'd been rather nonplussed at the time, but, thinking on it after the fact, his reaction had struck me as the one a professional might have to someone doing something unfathomably stupid in a field they knew a great deal about.

Getting nutritional advice from him though? Of all the things he could get worked up over?

My lips twitched up for a moment as I recalled his expression twisting through a flurry of emotions before settling on indignation. Some things, it seemed, were enough to make him ignore his apprehension... if only momentarily.

The small smile turned into a bitter grimace.

That assertiveness had _only_ been momentary though. And that was the issue, wasn't it?

I wanted him cooperative, not fearing for his life. Not that the two were mutually exclusive, but it made things awkward and was sure to complicate getting anything done if he was walking on eggshells around me.

Although, that hadn't stopped him from approaching me, which was something. It meant he could overcome his trepidation, provided he had the proper incentive. What he had offered in exchange though… a way to get off this island, if I took it.

'Protection in exchange for transport'. That had been the sum of his offer.

A simple enough exchange, and one that could see me back on the mainland in a week's time, but where would I go from there? A U.S. Embassy? That in itself had problems I had barely even begun to consider. Maybe make a plea for asylum from the Costa Rican government? Or perhaps I could simply disappear into South America, leveraging my power and experience to clean up the entrenched criminal elements while supporting myself by raiding their coffers. I wasn't sure I was ready to throw myself back into a mission now that I finally had this chance at peace, a chance to rest… but if it did come to that, perhaps I could finally live up to the hopes I'd had back at the beginning of it all.

The latter idea made me smile a bit, but quickly enough my thoughts turned away from old dreams of heroism and back to the issue at hand.

I had _options_ , but I didn't know enough to make an informed decision—something else to question Artur about. However, what I _did_ know, was that I had to consider who the offer was coming from. Or rather, I had to consider who would be fulfilling Artur's part of the bargain.

Artur's description of his employer's affairs had been barebones at best, but several points he'd been unable to ignore had sent up red flags. Namely, that his boss had been in negotiations with South American cartels and that he was some big-shot in the Russian mafia. It was the latter point that was the issue, as it was his _boss's_ people who would be coming to the pre-arranged pickup. If they found some stranger with Artur, rather than their boss and the other two mercenaries… well, the idea of flying in a helicopter over a hundred plus miles of open ocean with the hunter's (now unemployed) men wasn't exactly an appealing one.

Not that I couldn't remove the danger, it would be laughably easy, but if I did it nonlethally it _would_ complicate matters, and I didn't need any more blood on my hands.

Alternatively, I could simply _wait._ Evidently, the people who had built this place—the ones who created the dinosaurs—were coming back to try again. The information Artur had on that was minimal. An unfortunate combination of language barriers and him focusing on his job, but the news had apparently been big enough that he was certain they would be returning sometime within a year.

A year. Here. On my own.

It was a… _daunting_ , proposition, to say the least. But, it was one that didn't give me nearly as much pause as it would have the day prior. For the past few hours, I'd been weighing my odds: the chances that they'd shoot me and unceremoniously dump me into the ocean somewhere between here and the mainland, against what it would be like if I stayed.

Personally, I wasn't exactly willing to gamble on being able to survive being shot in the head. I self-consciously touched at my forehead and grimaced as I heard the two shots with near-perfect clarity. Shot in the head _again_ , that is.

Drumming my fingers on my knee a few times, I leaned to the side and grabbed up the laminated topographic map of the island that Artur's people had had. Well, the one that hadn't been annotated to hell and back in Cyrillic, shot through with shotgun slugs, and left soaking in blood for upwards of half an hour. This one was, fortunately, one that had just been copied, with only minimal translations from the English labels and markings.

Even if I had to wait six months, or even a _year_ , with sufficient infrastructure and reserves, I could use the supplies I now had to settle in and just wait.

My eyes were drawn to the peak of a mountain ridge overlooking the eastern coast.

Or… _not._ I had spent several days scouring that mountain, hiking up and down its sides to forage when the rains let up. Those trips had kept me fed, but aside from that, they hadn't been what I would've considered _productive_.

I glowered at the mountaintop my bunker was situated atop and recalled just _why_ I'd come out here in the first place.

The isolation of the location was exactly what I wanted, and having searched over the map I had identified only a handful of near-equivalent locations. However, while being secure, its relative remoteness also put a damper on its long-term viability.

How long would it be before I depleted everything in the immediate vicinity? How long before I was forced to venture further and further afield to get what I needed?

I'd _already_ done that with the berries, what would be next?

The fact of the matter was that I'd already stripped the mountain and immediate area around it of the low hanging fruit, literally and figuratively, which had instigated the trip to this place. If I just had a rucksack and kept on the move…

Scanning over the map, I surveyed the tangle of roads running to, from, or near various structures scattered across the island. I was sure most if not all of them were in just bad shape as the radio bunker had been or this place was. But that wasn't too great an issue, I had more than enough helpers to clean them out and if the theme of the buildings being built from concrete held true, then many were likely to be more or less intact and readily habitable (after a fashion). And then there were the tunnels, though those seemed somewhat limited to the center of the island—mainly to areas within the fence boundaries, though they did seem to connect to a number of small tertiary surface structures.

Cupping my cheek I bent over the map and, while occasionally referencing the legend, picked out a few locations that seemed like they could be as promising as the radio bunker: a hydroelectric dam to the southern end of the island, an airfield to the west, a geothermal plant between some hills in the north, and a water treatment plant along the coast to the north-east. And then there was my bunker, to the east.

I imagined them in a circuit. I could move between them, relocating as necessary or when one area was depleted, with stops in between at various 'emergency bunkers' or whatever else worked. Such as the little utility building I slept in after waking up here.

Of course, this time I wouldn't only be reliant upon berries to sustain me. Big tropical birds, those little dinosaurs, fish (if I could figure out how to fish), river crabs, _lobster_ … Now that I had a way to cook things, the dearth of food options had become an abundance. I just needed to figure out what was available where.

It wasn't the _best_ long-term plan, and roaming the island like that wouldn't be without risk. The supplies Artur's people had brought more than covered moderate to severe injuries—within reason—but breaking a leg would be a death sentence, and that wasn't even taking the wildlife into account. The scanned pages and annotated pictures in the guide-book they had put together on the region—and this island—made me think that that may _not_ be as bad a problem as I'd originally imagined.

Ultimately, while my odds of surviving here looked far better than they had been, I still needed more information before I could make a decision. I needed time to think on it. Though fortunately, _time_ was one thing I had for once; I had a week to decide what I was going to do.

I put the map aside. No matter what I chose to do though, it came down to a binary decision: Leave, or Stay.

The question then became what each decision would entail.

Leaving would be… complicated, _very_ complicated; so much so that I had little idea of where to start once I reached civilization, save that I would need to find a good lawyer. But if I stayed... well, I knew what I was going to do if I stayed, at least in the interim. I wanted to explore the Green and investigate what it was capable of. The prospect was appealing on a level I hadn't known since a simpler, more optimistic time; back when I'd been ignorant enough to see the world in black and white, rather than in the shades of grey it was really made up of.

As far as I'd been able to determine through my experiments, however, it was _definitely_ somehow tied to the nature, or environment, of certain locations. Even among the breadth of parahuman powers that didn't exactly fit the 'normal' categories, iit was... _odd_. Although, that wasn't saying very much. It had been _years_ since my trigger and I still didn't have an entirely firm grasp of how my passenger determined which creatures I had control over, even after experimentation both on my own and with the aid of the PRT's parahuman researchers.

What that would mean if I left the Island though… I didn't _know_ , and that was just _one_ sticking point.

 _I was being stymied by a lack of information. Again._

My eyes narrowed in frustration at the unspoken acknowledgment.

Thankfully, with someone to help me, I could get a fair amount of preliminary work done that would allow me to more safely hedge my bets. I would just need to get as much done as I could in the time allowed; it would likely be the deciding factor.

If I stayed, would I be living day to day, hand to mouth, or would my position be stable enough that I could explore what the Green was capable of at my leisure? Could I live without the risk of going hungry overshadowing everything else? Was I ready to deal with anything big enough or fast enough that I couldn't stop them?

Questions such as that went back and forth in my mental debate as they were answered, then revised with conditions, and answered again. At some point I found myself flipping through my notebook to help organize my thoughts.

The issues I'd have to deal with should I stay were roughly the same as those I'd been facing before, but over a longer period of time. The supplies and equipment Artur's people had brought would get me off the ground, but that was in the short term; my supplies would go to waste if I didn't use them wisely and I would lose whatever footing I had if I was careless.

For an extended stay like what I was considering, I'd need infrastructure and redundancies; I couldn't simply rely on having a readily accessible source of food and drinking water.

That was only the overarching issue I needed to address, among other things: what did I need to do while I had someone to help me, and what could I get done on my own when I didn't?

I slowed as I flipped through pages filled with notations and observations in gradually more legible chicken-scratch, my eyes catching on various notes until I reached the one I'd made that morning: the observations I'd made the night before. But again I kept myself on task and moved on, stopping at a blank page and beginning to outline what I now had to work with, what I needed, and what I was going to about the latter.

 _Pg.95_

 _—Fire:_

 _—With the equipment now available to me, fire in itself is not longer an issue; however, fuel is. With several sm propane bottles, I can have a fire easily enough, but they won't last forever and would be best kept in reserve for when a full sized fire is non-viable. As such, a supply of fuel will need to be stockpiled. Twigs, sticks, leaves, and other kindling are simple enough, however wood will be more difficult and labor intensive._

 _—Make an eternal flame?_

 _—Stockpile firewood_

I took the pen off the paper and considered how to keep a store of water before a small smile ghosted across my lips. Now, how could I forget about that little beehive? Where before I'd been balancing the use of my flightpack against short-mid term gains, I now had a helper.

 _—Water:_

 _—Iodine drops/tablets will last me a while, but I can't waste them. A basic sand+gravel+charcoal filter will work fine (in conjunction with boiling) to maintain a supply of water. I'll need to set one up and figure out a better way of storing it (other than filing cabinet drawers). There are several water cooler jugs in the building, can clean and repurpose._

 _—Use filing cabinet for sand+gravel+charcoal filter?_

 _—Note: Check 5 gal jugs (Will need to clean. Boiling water+soap? Sand?)_

 _—S/M/L silk water bladders sealed with beeswax?_

 _—Food:_

 _—Having access to fire has opened up food sources I can now safely access without risk of parasitic/bacterial illness. Will need to test what is edible or not (observation of animals, big bug tasting) but roots and wild herbs should be viable sources that can be cleaned and eaten as is/to supplement captured game (bird/fish/crab/etc). Rationing the supplies that Artur's people brought (enough for 4 men for 7 days) should also allow me a decent buffer during less bountiful periods. Honey harvested can be processed to act as calorie supplement/reserve and preservative if I can find edible fruit._

 _—Build beehive(s), cultivate palatable insect colonies_

 _—Look into/consult on dehydrating foods (fish, fruit, vegetables) and guidebook_

 _—Security:_

 _—Spreading the tripwires throughout the mountainside would be effective, but is it necessary? If the fencing can be patched (how? fill?), then the only things that could get through would be something that can slip/break through. By itself the bunker is a suitable shelter, look into reinforcing/barricading the door if necessary. Put together an escape bag if necessary and scout+stock alternative locations. Practice shooting with off-hand._

 _—Barricade for door, set up tripwires, transplant toxic/dangerous insects_

Considering the page a bit longer, I flipped to the next page and began listing out what I had and what I could use for alternatives.

 _Pg.96_

 _—Food_

 _—Indeter # canned fruit/veg, 1 week +/- supplies for 4, 1 beehive_

 _—Fish, shellfish, birds, insects, berries, wild Fruit/vegetables_

 _—Re-check vending machines_

 _—Reference Artur to translate his guidebook._

 _—Fire_

 _—3x lighter, 1x matches, 2x sm stove+4x propane, flare gun, batteries, gunpowder_

 _—Keep something constantly burning/eternal flame(fuel/gas/?)_

 _—Water_

 _—Iodine drops, 12 liters/5 gallons bottled water_

 _—Boiling/evaporation, silk+gravel+silk+sand+charcoal+sand filtration_

 _—Copper pipe(plumbing), sand(beach)(wash), gravel(river)(wash)_

 _—Storage: 5 gal water jugs(glass), waxed silk water bladders_

 _—Make charcoal, get and clean sand, find gravel (pebbles? river rocks?)_

 _—Filing cabinet as filter?_

 _—Security_

 _—Incomp-fencing, radio bunker, shotgun shell tripwires, machete, sidearm, hand cannon_

 _—Constant movement/relocation_

 _—Patch/fill perimeter fencing_

 _—Practice offhand shooting_

 _—Specialized swarm (wasp/spider/ant), non-lethal effective (wasp/ant/?)_

 _—Quality of life_

 _—Clothing(shirts, foot wraps, oversized pants), sandals/shoes(boots)/bedding, inflatable pillow, thick gurney pad, blankets_

 _—Increase silk production for: clothes, utility, other_

 _—Gather more orb-weavers(or enlarge?)_

 _—Re-wrap gurney pad in waxed silk (cut in 3rds?)_

 _—Equipment_

 _—Lrg/sm packs, duffel, combat belt+accoutrements, 2x tent(compact), duct tape, 4x gas mask+filters, multi-tool, rope, 3x lantern, heavy plastic wrap, 2x tarp, propane stove+bottles, watch+compass, lrg-compass, monocular, claw hammer, machete, hatchet, camera_

 _—Sanitary_

 _—Medical kit (advanced), wet wipes, TP, no-scent soap, toothbrush+paste,waste bags_

 _—To Do:_

 _—Gather wood, dig latrine, gather+breed spiders, produce silk, make dyes, dye clothes, laundry/cleaning system, silk TP, scout 2nd location, make filter, stockpile water_

Twirling my T-rex headed pen, I put it back to the page and over the next half hour added several more notations and refined a couple of ideas. But eventually, I hit a wall and began going around in circles.

I attempted to think of anything else I could add, to cover my bases, but after staring at the page for nearly a minute straight I realized I was drawing a blank.

Flipping the notebook shut I sat there for a moment before standing. Vertebrae popped as I straightened out and stretched.

I had a roadmap—vague as it was—of what needed to be done in the days ahead, now I just needed to give Artur my answer and start getting things ready. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

Besides... craning my neck back, I examined the stars appearing in the darkening sky.

If I was going to be here for one more night, then I wanted to be ready when it was that time again. Best to keep the parameters of an experiment constant, after all.

—


	17. Chapter 17

C'est La Vie (Worm / MtG) #04.2

A/N: So this is the 2nd portion of the original snip, or the second half that is. The 3rd, and final, portion will take a bit longer due to that needing more scenes for pacing purposes. Anyway, enjoy and speculate away. Discussions feed me.

As always, many thanks go out to by beta's.

P.S. For anyone who's following Networked (A Certain Scientific Railgun SI), I opened that up the other day and am wondering how it I got stalled where I did. It is back on the docket.

—

Rotted, waterlogged, industrial carpeting squashed beneath the soft soles of my costumed feet as I slowly ventured deeper and deeper into the visitors center.

It stank in here, in these halls where the rainfall from last week's storm had drained into. The cloying smell of mildew and rot seeped through the silk bandanna I'd once more tied around the lower half of my face. Not enough ventilation in this part of the building for it to dry out so soon after the storms rolled through, nor any way for it to drain away. The roof hatch was going to be shut when we left so it wouldn't flood again, but I couldn't even guess how many hundreds of gallons had dumped through that opening just days ago—or over the years for that matter. It would likely be weeks, at the very least, before this part of the building dried out.

The smell was a minor concern though, my concentration was wholly focused on my missing hand and the thin stream of green smoke writhing around my non-existent fingers, giving the impression that there was something there. I rolled them, spread my immaterial digits wide to stretch out the Green and examine it; I tried to tell if it was any thinner than before. It was, but still nothing—I bit back a gasp as a flash of technicolor pain stabbed between my eyes.

I ignored it as best I could and continued on, panning my 'hand' back and forth while watching the Green for the slightest sign of change.

On I went, slowly continuing my search of the building and narrowing down the source of what had been thinning the Green. This was the last bit to cover after an hour of circling the building, twice meandering my way through the lobby while ignoring Artur's inquiring glances, and stopping every time the Green so much as flickered.

It felt like I'd been at it forever. I hadn't, the Visitors Center wasn't even that big, but I was moving at a snail's pace. The headache wasn't helping either. Not so bad as the first time I dumped the entire capacity of the jungle's Impression in one go, but close.

There wasn't much more building left for me to search, fortunately, and before long there was a change. I stared at the Green as the restrained, yet primal hunger given off by the luminescent smoke turned to an almost placated growl; the violent writhing slowing to a calm, steady flowing.

 _This is it._

Elements of... _something_ , intermingled within the Green before being absorbed and further thinning the smoke for an instant. Separate, but similar. Substantive enough to change its nature, and distinct enough to be visible, but not enough to overwhelm it.

I cast about with the swarm, taking in everything in the immediate area. I turned in a circle, occasionally panning back and forth and using the Green in my hand like it was a metal detector while keeping watch for the slightest of changes. Then, another flicker, something darker within the Green, stronger than before. It momentarily discolored the Green before vanishing again, but not before I felt a muted sense of something almost inimical to the Green's nature.

I looked up from the Green and stared into the round, wire reinforced window. In the dark hallway and under a coating of mildew it was opaque, but I knew what was beyond it.

The Lab.

I slowly made my way further down the hall, my eyes on the Green, until I stopped at a heavy, half-recessed pocket door. The exposed half was misshapen from rust, lumpy, and had barely fit in its recess; the flakes of rust and paint on the ground were a testament to how difficult it had been to get it open the first time.

Stepping through, I stood before a second door, far more intact and still shut tight against nature's attempts to reclaim the building. Turning in place I stared through the glass wall on my right, this one only lightly fogged.

Beyond the glass lay a nearly immaculate room, a time capsule of the era when the park was operational and a glimpse of what this place had been, with its ancient, towering servers pushed up against the far wall, elaborate domed assemblies with mechanical arms, and clunky scientific equipment. A clean room environment, at least while it had been operational. But it was only kept in a near pristine state by a hair's breadth. The first door to the lab's airlock had taken most of the damage, though not all _._

I hadn't had much of a reason or inclination to break into the sealed room just to retrieve a few beakers and lab supplies, but now?

Checking the Green once more, I turned away from the window and examined the door. The handle was stuck down, unlocked, but the door itself was glued shut by decay and seals not yet rotted away. I reared back and kicked just below the handle and the door jerked out with a screech. Stepping back to re-balance and touch at my ribs for a second, I kicked out again and the door slammed open; it hit the railing on the catwalk beyond and rebounded with a shower of rust.

Stepping into the room I was hit with the smell of metal and stale air. For a second, harsh shadows were cast across the room by the Green before it flickered, then guttered out.

I tried calling it back, attempting to tap into the now completely depleted Impression of the jungle, but I only received another jab from my headache for the trouble. Just as what I'd hoped would happen.

It hadn't been apparent until the Impression had been nearly depleted, and I'd been paying closer attention, but evidently just drawing on the Impression had created a sort of... _seed._ Rather than drawing wholly on the Impression, it had _also_ been drawing on the local energy and supplementing what was drawn from the Impression—it had been what was calming the Green, something I'd only discovered after seeing it happen when returning from the jungle. I didn't know how, or _why_ , it did that, but without it happening I'd have never noticed there was even anything different about this place—it went to show just how little I knew about this new power.

Now that there was nothing left to draw upon though? Now I was back to where I had been on the mountaintop; a blank slate, or as close as I could get.

My eyes went to the heavy-looking door just ahead, at the end of the short catwalk. It led into a small, glass-enclosed room with the label 'Embryonics' above the doorway. I glanced left of it and through the windows to the wrecked room beyond, some kind of canister half crushed by a fallen pipe.

It wasn't what I was looking for though.

Turning to the short steps that let down into the lab proper, I felt about with my missing hand.

Nonexistent fingers ghosted along, touching with imagined feeling over steel tables littered with scientific instruments and gleaming metal tools. My eyes narrowed as I looked around, a feeling welling up that there was something… _off_ , about this place. It was functional, but… I glanced to the wall of glass looking out on a theater seating and the feeling crystalized.

This place was too small to be where the—no doubt _intensive_ —work had been done to re-create the dinosaurs living on the island. I looked back to the embryonics room and noted how it was positioned at the middle of the lab, the perfect spot for the audience to see. This place was a display piece. Theater… _Functional to some degree though,_ I thought, glancing over to a glass-domed apparatus at the far end of the room. These labs had clearly been designed with display in mind, but the equipment was too high-quality for it to be all have been entirely for show.

Regardless, I _knew_ this was the source. Ignoring the fakeness of it, the seeming illusion of greater functionality, I ventured deeper into the room and tried to feel for what had crept up on me on the mountaintop.

But there was nothing.

Turning in place, my eyes tracked over chairs in front of workstations, pieces of esoteric lab equipment, a clipboard and pencil set down on a table however many years ago… I stepped over and looked down at what was written to see a report or assessment scrawled in slanted shorthand, something about a successful hatching... A new dinosaur being born?

Looking up I slowly took in the room again, imagining scientists at their workstations and it came together _._ This place _wasn't_ the mountaintop, not the jungle, so why would it feel the same? Was it standing out _because_ it was different? Did it have the effect it did on the Green because it hadn't been retaken?

I shouldn't be expecting the same signs as what drew my attention on the mountaintop, because the sources weren't the same.

But… how then? I thought back to the mountaintop and seeing the island for the first time. It had been a breathtaking sight, and how that had felt… What would be the equivalent for here? How must have that felt, the idea of creating something so… _extraordinary_?

 _Creation._ That would have been the goal of this place, the supposed goal at least, a fraction of the spectacle that people would have seen. Working to bring _actual_ dinosaurs to life and being part of that, how it must've _felt_...

For an instant, I wasn't in this place, but _home_ , standing at the workbench in the basement examining the progress my black widows had made. It was a heady feeling, intoxicating even. It was the excitement of seeing something coming together after working at it for so _long_ —

Coolness and flickering luminescence illuminating the desk was the first sign and I stared down at my 'hand'. Blue mist wreathed the air around my missing arm and, where my hand should've been, a thicker mist coalesced; within I could almost make out the shape of the missing digits.

The energy steamed like frost under the sun, dissipating into the aether while a more concentrated stream flowed around my absent fingers and through the air.

The Green was the sun's warmth, the smell of the damp soil and trees, unrelenting patience and sudden violence—a crystallization of survival of the fittest as a concept, of the jungle itself and all the things that survived within it. The blue mist though… My eyes narrowed as I tried to put words to it and manipulated it between my absent fingers, feeling and examining it while considering what I had figured out.

Then it was there, at the edge of my awareness, an Impression, and… The blue mist, the _Blue_ , it was _possibility,_ what could be; it embodied the concept of change and creation, with all the wonder and terror that came with it…

-I-

After almost two weeks on this island, I still wasn't used to the climate. Case in point, it was barely morning and the 'tropic' was already being put into tropical. It probably had not helped that much of my time on the island thus far had been spent indoors, surrounded by cool concrete.

Taking a second to stop packing, I pulled my hat down to shade my eyes from the rising sun then got back to it.

 _I really wasn't made for this weather._

The sun was barely above the trees and I was already starting to bake. It was a good thing that I had another of the long sleeve shirts I'd salvaged from a storage closet. The mercenaries' combat pants were a touch too long in the leg, however, and needed to be taken in at the waist. In the meantime, I was left with nothing but my biking shorts to protect my legs. So long as I avoided getting burnt, though, I should be fine.

Putting the gradually rising temperature and humidity out of mind, I scooted forward to roll the now-rolled bedroll onto the carrying straps of my new backpack—a 'patrol-pack', Artur had called it.

Pinning it in place with my knees (really didn't want it unrolling again), I quickly looped the straps around the roll and lashed it to the bottom of the pack.

"Done."

Glancing around the rooftop, I checked that I had everything packed and slung the pack onto my shoulder. Everything I'd taken from the mercenaries' things, as well as what had previously been in my satchel and costume compartments. There was still a fair bit of room to spare, most things having gone into a pair of pouches strapped to the sides, but that would be corrected soon.

In the meantime, my—now empty—satchel was free to be stuffed with plants I could make some dyes out of. It was going to be a long walk back and I was sure I'd find what I needed.

Hopping to my feet and ignoring the leaves crunching between my toes and poking at my arch, I made my way over to the roof access hatch.

The whiptail stirred as I passed by where its folded-up form had been resting in the shadow of the lobby's conical roof. It rose as I neared the hatch, its long legs unfolded and separating from the shadows it raced toward the edge of the building; the arachnids figure cast long shadows in the morning sun, its long legs stretching even further. Then it was gone, vaulting over the railing and leaping off the roof and I activated my flight pack—its cargo—for several seconds; long enough for it to reach the branches of the surrounding trees and make for the edge of my range, high up among the branches.

It made things a touch dicey to be walking barefoot through the old building where rusty nails littered the floor in places, but I really couldn't wear my costume any longer. I had become inured to its gradually worsening smell since last I'd been able to wash it in the rain, and cleaning it with my swarm could only do so much. At this point, after washing up before going to sleep and wearing some of the mercenaries' clean clothes… no, just no. It needed a thorough cleaning before I could use it again.

A little vain perhaps, and maybe a little reckless to not just hold my nose and wear the stinking bodysuit until I got back to the bunker, but it was a _calculated_ risk. If I wore my costume, it could also cause me more problems than if I kept it on—or, cause the very problems it would've guarded against. Who knew what might smell it and come looking, or even follow us back to the mountain.

Fortunately, while my 'shoes' up until now had been integrated into the suit—and as such had necessitated wearing it lest I go barefoot as I was now—I now had an alternative, and one more appropriate for this place at that. The stealth that my costume's soft soles provided had its place, but this was a situation where solid protection won out.

 _Unfortunately_ , however, while the old hunter's boots were in my size, they were still a _touch_ too large. I had a plan for that though, and if it didn't work out… well, it was only a six-hour walk and the whiptail would be making a stop at the river when it came into range. Dunking my costume a few dozen times in the fast-moving water would do wonders and I could swap if it became necessary.

Stepping onto the steep stairs, I reached up and pulled the hatch shut behind me as I descended, the creaking steps accompanied by the sound of squealing hinges as I was enclosed in darkness.

I moved quickly through short, gloomy hallways to the indoor balcony overlooking the lobby. Things to do, places to be… and so, _so_ many things to experiment on now that I would have some more leisure time.

I'd almost certainly be able to make great strides without having to worry about bursting my test subjects so often. Maybe I'd even be able to make headway on something _other_ than bugs. That a concentration of the Green had been able to affect plants… if it could be directed, that have some _interesting_ applications.

Errant thoughts of what I might be able to do with jungle plants brought a smile to my lips as I moved to the end of the interior balcony, my fingers ghosting along a clear spot on the rail until they touched on a pair of near-invisible threads. Each led out to the two lanterns suspended from a pair of eye-bolts set into the ceiling.

Skewed shadows were cast across the room as I pulled the lantern in and Artur glanced up at me from where he knelt beside the hand truck, carefully winding a rope around it and the three opaque tub-totes.

"Are you about done down there?" He was, or almost was. I knew because I'd been watching him. It was good to include him though, we'd be working together for the next week after all.

Glancing up again he nodded sharply. "Da. Is amoost ready, Ma'am."

I paused for a split second as his response registered. _Ma'am?_ I didn't comment on it, but the title nagged at me. A coping mechanism? Fitting me into the pre-existing category of someone in a position of power?

Something about that left a bitter taste in my mouth. But, if it meant he wasn't so jumpy around me, then it was an improvement. I'd just have to tolerate it.

I kept reeling in the lantern and had an orb weaver crawl down my arm to sever the thread before pulling in the second one.

Carrying the two lanterns in hand and under arm, I made my way down to the ground floor. Artur glanced in my direction, then did a surreptitious double take and looked me up and down before getting back to securing the hand truck's cargo.

 _What? Had he been expecting something more?_

I dropped onto the bottom steps and, setting aside the lanterns, reached to the edge of the step for a pair of thin, rectangular towels draped over the hunter's brown leather boots. No way was I going to use my failed attempt at making socks when I had some readily available foot wraps.

Mind, _why_ Artur's people had been using them instead of socks was something I couldn't begin to fathom. It couldn't even be explained by them having some modicum of extra utility when all the gear they had must've cost upwards of ten thousand dollars or more. And that was the conservative estimate, not even taking into account a helicopter to drop them off or paying for the mercenaries themselves.

Whatever the reason, it saved me from an uncomfortable trek back to the mountain and silk production better used elsewhere. For the time being at least.

Placing my foot at one end of the rectangle, I considered how to go about it. After a few moments of thinking about it, however, I simply began folding, wrapping, and winding as seemed logical. I contorted my arm, pulling the fabric tight around my calf and trying to get it taut enough to tuck. It. In… The fabric pulled out from between my pinched-white fingers and unraveled. "Dammit."

Starting over I tried again, and again, and again, _and again._ It was on my sixth attempt that Artur finished with the hand-truck and stepped over. He was muttering something in Russian about 'portyanki', whatever that was.

I looked up to see him take a knee in front of me, an unexpected look of sympathy crossing his features as he nodded to the wraps.

"Can demon'strait if vish, Ma'am."

Glancing down at the fabric I considered refusing the offer. I almost had it, I could get it on my own if I tried a few more times, but…

" _You never learned to ask for help when you needed it_ ," Tattletale had said, that moment in the cave clear as if it had only just happened when looking back on it. I'd still been relatively human at that point, so early on. She hadn't been wrong. My attention was briefly drawn to the presence of the knife he'd affixed to his belt, but I decided to let it be.

"I'd appreciate it, thanks."

I sat back while he scooched forward and deftly adjusted the position of my foot with a muttered "Pordon" before getting to work. He went about the steps with exaggerated slowness, repeating each fold in the process until he was done. "Must 'ave correkt or chafe," he cautioned, then left the other for me to do myself while heading back to the kitchen.

Keeping his advice in mind, I laid out the second cloth and set to work repeating the steps as he'd demonstrated with my other foot. It took a few tries, but I eventually got it… for the most part.

I extended my leg, rotated my ankle, then extended my other leg to compare the wrap I'd done to the one Artur did and grimaced. It looked like crap; the fabric was loose in places, or not evenly wound. Functional, but that was the _only_ thing that could be said about it.

 _Not exactly handicap friendly_. At that moment I decided to use a bit of my silk production once we got back to the mountain to make a roll, see if wrapping my feet as if I were bandaging them worked better. Visualizing it, the simple roll of fabric quickly turned into something more purpose made but still multifunctional: A length of fabric with button and hole at the end, and a loop to put my foot or toe through at the other.

Idly refining the concept in my head, I grabbed my new boots and set about pulling them on.

While I loosened the laces, my attention was drawn to Artur. He'd already had everything he wanted packed into a large rucksack and had strapped climbing spikes to his boots. He began making his way back to the lobby, but then he turned around and retraced his steps.

I watched him unwrap the tarp he'd wrapped the guns in and work at one of the Kalashnikovs. By the time I pulled on the second boot he had managed to pull several parts off the gun. Nothing special, just a number of the fore end components that he pocketed before re-wrapping the tarp.

Curious, but probably nothing I needed to be concerned about given the parts he took.

We left not long after that, only staying to move the excess equipment and supplies to the kitchen where they would be safe.

Waste not, want not.

—


	18. Chapter 18

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #04.3

A/N: Yeah, I know, it's late and I stretched the definition of 'soon' again. Midterms blah, essays blah. Here the next half snip, in which Taylor learns a thing. Also, this snip got split. Again.

—

It was a pleasantly untroubled trip from the Visitors Center to the mountain. Birds were singing and flying through the trees, dinosaurs trumpeted in the distance every so often, and a gentle breeze was keeping the heat and humidity down.

An uninterrupted walk was all it was though; neither of us spoke more than a handful of times. The silence wasn't exactly awkward, but more that we didn't have anything to talk about and Artur seemed to be content in taking in our surroundings. I imagined another part of it may have been him having evidently settled on treating me as he would a relaxed superior officer and having nothing important to say; though that was only a guess.

Save for that lingering awkwardness however, the trip went uninterrupted except for the occasional break or stop so I could retrieve a handful of one plant or another. Before we were even halfway along, my satchel had been filled with all number of plants and whatever else might be usable as a dye to tarnish the orb weavers' silk.

I was certain that bracken fern shoots should give me a nice reddish-pink, and from eucalyptus bark a light tan, but aside from those two, I didn't what would make what. Neither of those colors were quite what I wanted, but if the other plants didn't work out I could always mix everything together and see how that worked out. It shouldn't be an issue though, I had more than enough samples that I was sure I'd find something that worked. But utilitarian clothes aside, it would be nice to have some variety once I had the time to put together some more casual articles.

Sure, having only the most basic knowledge of how to make or use natural dyes I was under no illusions that my efforts would be anything but amateur at best. I needed to figure out so many minor factors and account for them in order to get the color I wanted—what plant resulted in which color after being fixed with which type of mordant and so on. Whatever my initial results though, they would still be better than the gold sheen that the silk naturally took on in the light.

We reached the mountain around mid-day, and, half dragging the hand-truck over the bumpy, sun-dried red mud that'd spilled out from the gap in the fence base along the road, I looked up the mountain and glowered at the thin haze of fog shrouding the treetops and obscuring the peak.

With the Sun high overhead, our climb would be a wet slog. There was something to just toughing it out and getting it over and done with, but behind me I watched Artur knead at his thigh with the heel of his hand and surreptitiously pull out that tic-tac container. There were other factors to consider.

I glanced down at my new watch, ten to two. "Let's take a breather. Ten minutes."

Artur sighed in what could've only been relief and all but dropped his pack where he stood before moving toward the trees.

Parking the overloaded hand-truck on level ground, I shrugged off my small patrol-pack and sat down against a nearby tree. Artur did the same and, digging into one of his cargo pockets, tossed me a bag of trail mix.

Accepting it with a small smile, I held it in my teeth while I arched forward and pulled out one of the two green, plastic canteens hooked to my belt. I was forced to pin it between my knees to unscrew the cap, but getting it undone I sat back a bit to relax while sipping from the canteen.

My eyes were drawn back to the hand-truck.

When setting out a few days ago I hadn't given much thought as to _how_ I'd haul everything up the mountain, just that I would. Now that we were here though? It was going to be a problem no matter how we went about it. The tubs were a bit lighter than when I'd originally packed them due to Artur swapping in the lightweight camping equipment his group had brought with them, but that weight reduction had been offset by more stuff being mounted to the outside of them.

Instead of just a three-high stack of tub-totes as it had originally been, Artur had tied the rope in such a way that the tubs were all lashed together with a heavy rake, shovel, and fire-ax helping to support the stack—improvised scaffolding of sorts.

My gaze shifted upwards, to the mass of blankets and bedrolls tied to the topmost tub. And then there was that, a five-gallon water cooler jug with padding to keep the glass bottle intact. Empty save for dust, but its size and shape made it awkward to carry and it would require a trip in itself.

Maybe it could be carried along with the tools though? It would still take a minimum of three trips.

I sipped from the canteen and turned to look up the mountainside.

A few minutes later the relaxing atmosphere that had slowly come about was broken. A sharp _Crack!_ echoed through the trees and Artur jerked upright, his head snapped up from where he had been resting to scan our surroundings while his hand grasped at where his thigh holster had been.

I grimaced as the whiptail just barely caught itself, and I activated the flightpack for a split second to let it regain its footing as one of the branches it had been standing on fell from the canopy. I relocated it to a sturdier position and waited for the orb weaver it'd been picking up to come to it.

"Ma'am?"

He was looking to me for direction, or reassurance.

I opened my eyes to look back at him. "It's fine," I said, and made the effort of slouching back a bit.

"Boot—"

"It was just the whiptail," I said, interrupting him before he could get started. I realized I might have been a bit harsh. "I've been having it patrol our perimeter since we left the Visitors Center," I added. "It just broke a branch is all."

"Ah," he said, and after a pause, "I 'ad been vondering vere it vas." He was quiet for a bit longer and I was settling back when he looked into the jungle again.

"Boot, how break branch? Ven see, spy'dare no more zan twenty kilo ate' moost."

I opened my eyes to look at him again and considered how to respond to that before deciding that honesty was the best course. He'd see the thing eventually after all, and I hadn't exactly been subtle with either it or the Green when I'd been searching for the Blue; I had walked through the lobby twice while he'd been in there after all.

"That sounds about right. But I made it bigger since then."

"Beegar?"

"Bigger." I sighed. "I figured it would better to keep it out of sight for the time being."

A look of consternation crossed his features a moment after my explanation and he shook his head. "Eet is vine, Ma'am. Do not need to keep avay on my behaf. Is no pro'blem. Is just beeg spy'dare."

I raised my eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

He frowned but nodded. "Da."

I considered him for a few seconds before shrugging. "Alright then." I was pretty sure he was just putting up some false bravado, but if that was how he wanted to play it, fine.

Giving the order, it waited until the orb weaver was aboard and a minute later it appeared among the branches overhead. Its movements were nearly silent, and the only sign of its arrival was a gentle creaking as some of the branches it spread its legs strained under the weight of it.

Artur didn't react until I looked up and, following my gaze, he flinched back. His breath caught at the sight of it and I had the thing shift, ever so slightly, so he had a better view of it from an angle. I was posing it, putting it on display. In the dim light under the canopy the barbs on its legs shone dully, once fine hairs coarse and the size of a dog's whiskers, and the organic plate armor that was its carapace spread ever so slightly to expose faintly glowing green veins throughout its fleshy joints as it shifted its weight.

After a few more moments I had the now wolf-sized spider descend by way of a tree trunk.

Its thorax was wider than the trunk.

It took Artur almost a full minute to relax, though he did a commendable job of faking it while the whiptail unloaded its yellow passengers onto me then departed to pick up more.

"I zee. Beeger." The bluntness with which he said it almost made me laugh.

Taking up my canteen I took a slow sip while taking a second to think about how to answer before recalling the quick measurements I'd taken late last night after dumping most of the Green into it. "Overall it's about thirty percent larger than when you first saw it. Not quite what I wanted though."

At an inquiring look from him I elaborated: "It can't really carry much, spiders aren't made for that , but"—I gestured with my canteen at the weavers in my hair—"it has its uses."

His expression turned thoughtful at that and he hummed, glancing back the way the whiptail had left. "And is… safe?"

I shot him a reassuring smile. "It's safe."

I don't think he believed me, but he did seem more thoughtful than afraid. It was something.

-I-

Our break didn't last much longer, but the brief reprieve turned out to be a necessary one. The ascent began simply enough, Artur and I dividing the work with him carrying two of the lighter tubs and my patrol pack while I took his rucksack with the tools tied to it. The pack was heavy and strained my ribs a bit, but otherwise, the bulky, protruding pack was downright manageable and nowhere near as cumbersome as the large tubs looked once Artur picked them up.

Things began getting more difficult before long, in large part due to the tubs being so cumbersome but also because the footing was still poor from the rains. It wasn't as tenuous as the last time I descended, but cutting through the jungle to bypass the washed out sections of road hadn't been easy and at multiple points I needed to grab one side of the stack while he held the other.

In, retrospect we could have put together some sort of a sling and a carrying pole, or something similar. Eventually though, we rounded the last switchback and started up the last bit of road leading to the airlock-style gate set into the tall fencing around my little bunker.

 _Mine._ My thoughts caught on that as I walked up the road under the overhanging tree canopy..

It felt... unexpectedly _nice_ to be back here. The former radio bunker needed work, a _lot_ of work. The place was little more than a hole in the ground and had reminded me of my prison cell when it'd been raining. It very much needed livening up and creature comforts. Still, the feeling remained. Maybe all the ideas I'd jotted down while I was away had something to do with that? Or… maybe it was because this was the first place I could actually call _mine_? Home hadn't been home for a long time, not since mom died; the boardwalk apartment had been provided by Coil, even as it was my base and where I'd slept; even my room at the Chicago HQ had never felt like it was _mine_.

The bunker was different. I had retaken it, and I had cleaned it up. Compared to my efforts to fix things in the past, it was simpler, more… _personal._

Was this what getting your first apartment was supposed to feel like?

As the gate came into view I sensed Artur perk up. He looked left and up, his head turning to follow the overgrown fencing that cut through the trees, then to the airlock-gate. His attention was grabbed by the fencing again once the hole in it beside the gates came into view, the tangle of twisted metal poles and cables partially hidden by the overgrowth, but he seemed to relax once we passed through the gates.

I guess having only one hole in the perimeter was better than having a dozen.

Rounding the bend where the mountain had been terraced, I directed him to drop the tubs by the double doors as I moved to them and shrugged off his pack. Leaving the pack against one of the angled buttresses supporting the front of the bunker, I stretched a little and turned to him as he put down the supplies, about to thank him. As soon as he set the tubs down though he turned away and he picked his way through the weeds, little trees and other plants in front of the bunker until he made his way to the edge of the retaining wall holding the lot up and looked out over the treetops at the island beyond.

I watched him for a few moments and in that time it seemed as if he shrank a little, tension I hadn't noticed that had been there the entire time just draining away… Shit. He'd been wound up and I brought out the Whiptail like it was nothing. And why, because he thought he was being tough and I was calling his bluff? For what? Because I could? To get him used to it? To try and get him used to _me_?

I turned away as an ugly knot formed in my stomach and let him have his moment.

A pair of orb weavers ferried by dragonflies were sent into the bunker to remove the thread securing the doors. While they got to work, I set about unpacking what I needed from the tubs. Pots and pans for the most part, as well as strainers and colanders and other irregularly shaped salvage that hadn't allowed room for much else even after Artur repacked it.

I set aside everything I needed with my satchel of plants and a few cast iron grill tops before turning to the double doors. By the time Artur returned, it felt like he was comfortable for what might have been the first time. Heartbeat down, walking easier, less tense—more at ease. That I was dragging out the second of three filing cabinet drawers I'd used to collect rainwater seemed to amuse him somehow but he looked away as I backed up toward him, the heavy drawer in tow.

Shrugging off my pack and putting it against the angled concrete support buttress jutting out beside the door, he examined the front of the bunker before stepping inside. Then he stopped. He stood in the doorway, back stiffening again as his eyes roaming across the cave like room and only moving to let me drag the drawer outside.

The back corners of the drawer screeched and scraped over the concrete until I wrestled it onto the dirt beneath the bunker's barred window.

"You say you here a veek, da?"

I glanced up at the non sequitur question and stood to face him once I moved the drawer beside the first. "That's right. Well, a week and a half since I left for the Visitors Center a few days ago actually. It was a bit of a mess when I found it, but not so bad that a some work and my swarm couldn't clean it up. There was some mold and the hatch at the back of the hall has a pretty bad leak, but I managed to get it all cleaned up."

He looked back into the building, his lips pursing into a thin line.

Something about that nettled me, I'd worked _hard_ to clean this place up. "What's wrong," I asked, sarcasm coloring my voice, the new possessiveness of the place rising to the fore. "Don't tell me it isn't up to your standards." Was it the air? It had been a bit musty when I'd opened the doors. Not so bad now, but should I have left the back hatch open so it could air out while I was gone?

He flushed and quickly shook his head. "Niet… No." Looking back inside, he stepped through the doorway, hesitated, then ventured further into the bunker with his head on a swivel.

I sensed his movements through my swarm and watched through the fogged window as he took in the subterranean building; he didn't go in very far, remaining in the main room while he looked to the ceiling, the doors, vents, and briefly peered down the hall to the bit of light coming in through the rusted-through back hatch.

He glanced back at me through the window before coming out and going to his rucksack.

"And… did use anyzing else to clean?" Without waiting for me to answer he opened his rucksack and reached in. Pushing things aside, he pulled out several items only to drop them while he kept searching for something.

I went to cross my arms, then put my hand on my hip and watched him dig through his pack. "Well, there wasn't much to work with," I admitted, "just a bit of soap and some old bleach, but I made do and everything I didn't get to my bugs did. Why? What's wrong?"

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, "If vas all did, zen no, it not clean. Ma'am."

I blinked and ignored his hastily tacked on 'Ma'am'.

"Pardon?"

Reaching deep into the rucksack, he pulled out a full face gas mask and gestured into the bunker with his free hand.

I moved to join him at the doorway and he pointed to one of the many darker-than-normal splotchy spots left on the cinder-block walls even after cleaning them as best I could—water stains and where the mold had eaten into the concrete. "Your… _svarm_ , zey did not clean. Mold still _in_ cone'crete. It is... po'rus, like spoonge. And mold, vas black, yes? And vite? Hoomid. Dark. Door close? Yees? Leetle air vlow. Eet vould grow vell 'ere. Spore remain in air. Very baed"— He touched at his throat then tapped at his chest—"vor loong. Lun-guh. Bad for breeth."

I blinked and it took me a moment to parse his increasingly mangled English, but when I did I turned and followed where he was gesturing to a dark stain on the curving ceiling. Then I looked around to the _multitude_ of nearly identical spots scattered all around the ceiling and walls.

Ah. Bad, yes, if those were all mold colonies then that was… _bad_.

"I see."

There really wasn't much more I could say about that.

—


	19. Chapter 19

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #04.4

A/N: Ugh, there, its done. Well uh... I did say "a bit" didn't I? Good news is I have Ch.5 outlined and it doesn't look like there should be too many sticking points with that one (knocks on wood). But seriously, since this one sets up one of the mana applications... well, wanted to get that right. Anyhow, enjoy and please let me know what you think!

Many thanks go to my betas for helping me with corrections and brainstorming through the tedious course of finishing this thing.

—

With satchel in hand, and a wool blanket held under my stump, I ducked out from under the fallen radio tower and my back twinged.

I started up the slope behind the bunker, my calves burning as I made for some of the few trees within the fenceline.

My ribs pulsed in time with my breathing, an ever-present throb.

Ignoring my weariness I kept climbing. Just a bit further.

Getting everything up here had only taken a second trip, but it'd taken far, _far_ , too long to haul everything up the mountain. It drove home the need for a better system. Or, a heavy lifter that could easily traverse the mountain; I needed to get working on enlarging a Hercules beetle. A new Atlas.

Moving in among the trees, I went in far enough that I was in the shade and threw down the blanket before carefully setting down the satchel. I stood there for a minute, feeling the aches and pains; my ribs, stump, legs, back— I was tired, but what else was new.

Pulling out a half-empty canteen and upending the remaining water over my head I luxuriated in the relief from the heat. Idly, I reached up to comb my fingers through my damp, greasy hair, pulling at few knots and untangling the locks.

 _I need a comb_. An absent thought about a small thing, but it was one more thing I needed to find or make.

Of all the things Artur's people had brought, a simple pocket comb hadn't been one of them. I supposed that was a perk of having short hair, it would certainly be one less thing they'd have had to worry about here. Meanwhile, my thick hair was a barely managed mess, the only thing keeping it from becoming a frizzy birds nest was my judicious attention and its greasiness. The less said about my scalp, the better. The thought of cutting it though, I couldn't— I gasped as I pulled out a particularly bad tangle.

I sighed and pulled my hand away, relegating a number of orb weavers to hand the mess.

It would be one less thing to take care of and make living here easier, but I couldn't lose one of the few things I had left, that last bit of mundanity.

Tilting my head back, I was left staring up at the canopy squinted against the sunlight. My arm hung hanging limply at my side and for a long moment, I stood there, gathering my thoughts and pulling myself together.

Then the moment passed and bending at the waist I touched my toes and went through several basic stretches. They hurt, but nothing like it would later on if I skipped. It was a good, familiar pain. Mostly.

Kicking around leaves and debris to level the ground, I spread out the blanket, eased myself down, and pulled a radio off my belt to thumb the transmit button twice before setting aside.

I was pulling off my boots when Artur emerged from the radio bunker and headed for the gate.

For a few seconds I followed him with my eyes, then through the ants placed on his person and bugs in his surroundings when he passed out of sight.

He was walking fine, for now, but stepping off the road and onto the mountainside he touched at his thigh and slowly curled the leg a few times. Maybe 'fine' was stretching it, but he was going out to gather firewood regardless, keeping himself busy.

I sighed as I looked back to the bunker.

Mold. Of all the things I had to deal with, it was _mold_. According to Artur though, dealing with it was just a matter of burning it out and that'd be the end of it.

Shaking my head, I pulled my satchel over and began to unpack my testing supplies.

Easy. Sure.

Good thing my little hideaway was built from concrete and steel; it would survive being turned into a makeshift oven.

So it wasn't a problem, regardless of the time and resources, it was going to take to make it work. True, I had wanted him to get me wood at some point, but this wasn't _quite_ what I had had in mind.

I'd wanted a surplus of firewood, not _ashes and charcoal._

That wasn't to say those things weren't going to be useful, but in the quantity I'd be getting them? It was going to take a _lot_ of wood to get the bunker hot enough. I suspected the mountain was going to be running low on kindling by the time he gathered what he needed.

This wasn't something I needed to get worked up over though, it needed to be done so it was being done.

Besides, he was the one out doing the heavy lifting, while I was up here keeping watch and correcting my failure to properly investigate the Green. It was a hiccup, but everything seemed to be working out alright.

Although, while the firewood depletion reinforced the idea that I might need to move around the island, I also had to take into account that wherever I relocated to was likely to have the same problem with mold. The Visitors Center had been well off overall, its general condition notwithstanding, but it had been fairly well ventilated barring the rear halls.

I couldn't assume it would be the same with other places if I was seeking shelter for an extended period of time.

An inquiry from Artur drew my attention and directing him to some trees with dead branches, he threw a strap around the trunk, secured it to his waist harness, then started climbing.

I sighed as I watched him hack at a narrow branch with a folding saw.

He was getting started with his distraction, hopefully, things would go as smoothly with mine.

Pulling my notebook out, I flipped to a fresh page and listed out the selection of items and materials I'd set out for the testing. Simple things, for the most part.

A cup of water and another of dirt, a bowl with a short vine shoot and another with sticks to light a small fire in were my 'elemental' standings. I had spools of steel and copper wire, as well as a diamond,-encrusted gold ring (the hunters) to test how it effected metals. A scarab beetle was flown in for the Blue, and to give the selection a bit more variety I'd gathered a few different types of rock, a small wrist compass and a clunky Rolex (again the hunters). Once I went through those with the Green, then it would be time to what the Blue could do.

My eyes gravitated to the vine as I set the notebook aside.

No matter how the testing turned out, I would still have the vine to look into.

It was an oversight: my focusing on the Green's potential to augment my swarm. A mistake brought on by the thought that it could bring me that extra bit of security, the possibility that I could create a new Atlas. If I hadn't, I might have realized that this new power was more than just a little odd and discovered the Blue or other applications with the Green a little sooner.

Shaking my head I sat up and pushed the regret into the back of my mind with all the other 'what if's'.

It was pointless to worry over what could have been. I just needed to make sure I covered my bases from here on.

Bringing over the glass of water, I reached inward to the green marble at the back of my mind and draw out a fraction of the Green. As soon as the luminescent smoke took form around my insubstantial fingers I knew I'd named it wrong.

Before leaving for the Visitors Center I wouldn't have noticed the difference, I had no other frame of reference, however as soon as the luminescent smoke took form I knew what I had wasn't strictly 'Green'.

Oh, Green may have been the predominant color, but there was something else affecting it. A similar situation to how the lab had been affecting the visitors center, I suspected.

I tentatively tried gathering the Green into a single point as I had those nights I ventured out into the jungle and it resisted. Violently _._ As soon as the smokey energy began coalescing it came apart like a rubber band snapping.

The remaining Green dissipated as I tried processing what this meant and quickly enough my teeth were grinding.

Before I left for the Visitors Center, I'd been operating under the assumption that the Green I had was all there was. I had a sample size of one, it wasn't the wrong assumption to make, but after finding the Blue I knew that wasn't the case. Only now was I really realizing just what that meant though.

There were the Green and the Blue, but what else? And that was an issue, there _had_ to be more because whatever was mixing with the Green here definitely wasn't the Blue.

As much of a revelation as that was though, that fact also meant that the results I'd gotten with the Green from here were skewed.

"Fuck."

And the worst part was that if I had to guess where a 'pure' Green might be, then it probably would've been the small jungle clearing out by the Visitors Center.

I'd only been a few minutes walk from the area for _days_ , and now it was halfway across the island. Worse yet, I'd gone out to it twice.

I was grimacing as I looked inward, considering the impression of the tree covered mountain that overlooked the jungle below.

In retrospect, it was obvious: comparing how the Green had felt in the depths of the jungle by the Visitors Center to the Impression, it was clear the two weren't the same. The Green was still the primary component, that was a consistent detail besides the effect it had on bugs, but, in contrast to the easily workable, diluted feeling of the Blue-affected Green, the Green of the mountain was resistant to my efforts.

Why though?

The mixture of the Visitors Center was due to the lab, but what was affecting the Green here? It stood to reason that there had to be something, but what could be the cause? This was a _mountain_ , but except for the bunker there was nothing up here and after spending a week in the place I could confidently say there was nothing special about the place.

I may have been wrong, maybe there wasn't anything and this was a similar situation to my assumptions about the Green, but if I wasn't there had to be _something_.

I couldn't discount the idea that I was wrong, but to make sure I wasn't being oblivious I grabbed the radio and told Artur to remain calm, closed my eyes, and focused on my swarm.

As one, just over a billion bugs rose up to scour the mountaintop.

I searched everywhere, above and below ground, beneath every rock and rotted log, but there was nothing to find. Except for discovering that the bunker's plumbing and septic tank was more intact than I'd thought, there was nothing up here I hadn't already aware of.

It wasn't proof one way or another, but...

Biting my lip I sat there and tried not to run in circles.

It was clear enough that _something_ was affecting the Green here, but what? The Blue had been coming from a section of the Visitors Center, a clearly delineated location where the Blue-affected-Green ended and Blue began. Furthermore, the area the Blue occupied hadn't stretched far beyond the building; the energy had been concentrated, easily locatable, but there was nothing like that up here.

Could something else be the cause? Maybe, I just didn't know and it was as simple as that.

Taking down my thoughts, I moved on to theorizing what this new information meant for the power testing—beyond the results being skewed, of course.

Although… Maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed?

Absently spinning my pen with my off hand, the scarab beetle came over to turn the pages for me while I skimmed through all the notes I'd taken up until now.

A short while later my lips thinned as I paged through my notebook; making notes in margins to amend my observations where necessary.

It was mixed news. There were three sources of the Green that I knew of and each was different in how they operated, but while that was the case they all _appeared_ to be in line; just more or less difficult depending on what they were mixed with.

The influence of the Visitor Centers Blue and Green mixture on the unknown Green mixture from here had made it easier to work with.

Conversely, the pure Green out in the jungle had let me flat out brute-force the whiptail's enlargement through instantaneous saturation. All that had been required from me was to direct the actual process.

Meanwhile, the mystery Green mixture here required firm control regardless of how much of was used.

It was like… a stable reaction versus an unstable one. No, more like whatever was mixing with the Green here was making it more _volatile_.

Putting the problem in those terms didn't quite fit, but it was close enough and if that comparison was right, then that meant whatever was here was making it more difficult to work with.

After reviewing my notes: Yes, that was exactly the case.

There was nothing inherently _wrong_ with taking the more difficult option, it was working with the Green here that had helped me refine my control that the Blue and Green mixture had been as simple as could be. However, regardless of the benefits, it was irking finding that out only after the fact.

It was all so very… typical, though. Of all the places I figure out how to use this stuff, it was in a place that makes it more difficult.

Nevertheless, added difficulty or not there was little I could actually _do_ about it. Trekking back to the Visitors Center or hiking down to the surrounding jungle and hoping I would get lucky was an option, but not a practical one.

It wouldn't be perfect, but for the time being, I was limited to working with what I had. With no realistic way of addressing the problem, I was left with taking into account that the results of this testing would be skewed until I could confirm them.

I sighed and cracking my neck tried not to dwell on the complication. All said though, it wasn't too bad. Besides, I was already off to a good start. I was learning about this stuff, and I was figuring out just how little I actually knew!

With a small smile, I reached inward again and drew upon the impression.

Time to see what else it could do

-I-

Taking down all I'd learned from testing the Green and Blue should've been more satisfying than it was. Hours of repeated, _careful_ , application of the mixed Green, and I had discovered the effects the colored energy on anything inorganic could be summed up as: 'not that much'. It wasn't much better with the Blue.

To water the Green did nothing. To dirt it did _nothing_. To fire, nothing. To various metals, _nothing_. Compass, nothing. Rock, _nothing_.

Rolling my aching wrist I checked that I had everything, little that it was.

Out of everything I'd gathered from testing it, only in applying the Green to the vine had I gotten a substantive reaction and I'd already known about that application.

Part of the issue was almost certainly a matter of volume, but I only had so much to work with.

It was a small re-assurance though.

I would need to do more dedicated testing to confirm the results, but in short, it appeared the Green just didn't effect anything that wasn't alive.

A bit disappointing that, but informative regardless, and it gave me a workable baseline of what the Green could or couldn't do. I could focus my efforts on what I'd learned.

All the same though, it was a bit frustrating that it had taken significantly depleting the impression to reach that conclusion. The results were worth it, but it would have been nice to follow up on them.

I looked over to the vine with a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. What had once been a scraggly shoot, a stem barely thicker than my pen was now a decent facsimile of a bonsai tree.

A bit of moving the Green here, concentrating it there, and that was all it had taken to get the vine to grow and fork. Compared to working with bugs, manipulating the plant was fairly simple even with the Green mixtures volatility. I already had an entire page of ideas I could apply it to and beyond the practical applications of a passable wood substitute, even one that could be shaped on demand, I suspected I'd found a solution to future food problems—at least where foraging was concerned.

It was curious though. The bugs had been relatively simple to enlarge because they were just that, _bugs_. I had an innate connection with them through my passenger, but plants?

Another thing to look into.

Regardless of the ease in working with them though, I still needed more practice if I wanted to do half the things I had in mind. Also, there was efficiency. I'd been wasteful in saturating it and suspected that if I concentrated the Green only where I wanted the vine to grow I could make the process more efficient, and I _would_ need to conserve as much of it as I could.

Only a relatively small amount of the Green had actually been needed to make the vine grow, but it had _only_ been a vine; a plant type more prone to rapid growth than most. I had no doubt that large-scale growth or other, more woody, plants would require quite a bit more.

It was another note to the growing to-do list and I made another about searching for a source of Green while away from the mountain. If the mixed Green could do that, then could a pure Green do something on par with the whiptails enlarging?

I flipped to a new page to document the results from testing the Blue.

As limited as the Green but just as effective was the best way to describe how the Blue testing had gone—and fortunately, it had _only_ been the Blue I'd been testing, the local energy hadn't become a factor. Whatever process had drawn on the Green-Blue mixture at the Visitors Center and the Green out in the jungle just hadn't triggered.

I made a note to look into it.

As the Green had done to the vine, it had only taken injecting a small measure of the Blue into the glass of water to get tangible results; a pale blue mist had fogged over the surface, while the water itself absorbed the Blue and took on a pale glow. More than that, I'd been able to feel the water the Blue had mixed with; in my swarm sense it had appeared as a vibrating mass, as if it were an incredibly dense swarm.

Feeling and understanding it were two different things though, it was just… _there_ , in my swarm sense, I couldn't make out constituent elements and the mass was more a single thing made up of smaller bits. Aside from that curiosity though, from there is had taken no effort at all to move the Blue infused water by pulling on the vibrating mass, which I'd assumed was the energy. It had been slow moving at first, but quickly picked up pace until it was circling the inside edge of the glass and creating little eddies on the surface.

I had only used a little bit of the Blue though, and it was quickly used up, but it had been more than enough to demonstrate the potential in the application.

My immediate assumption had been that it was some limited form of hydrokinesis. The Blue was acting as a medium and interacting with the water rather than the water being something I was controlling directly.

Attention-grabbing as that had been though, I hadn't let myself have a repeat of the bug enlarging and moved on.

The rest of the testing went much as the Green did, with the Blue having little effect on the various samples. When it came to the beetle though...

I brought my pen up and swallowed, unsure how much I should write on what had happened with the beetle, whether or not I wanted to follow up on it. The sensory enhancement had potential, but… I put the pen back to the paper and recalled the simple code I'd used in my cape journal so long ago; it would take me consciously translating it to read it.

When it came to the beetle, I didn't know what had happened to it.

One moment I was injecting the Blue into it and its senses were getting sharper, _clearer_ —what it'd been seeing and feeling through it was easier to process. For a few moments, it had stood out in my swarm-sense as the Green-enhanced insects did and I'd been looking through a set of eyes that saw the world in an entirely different way. Then it was all but dead.

The bug was still alive, technically, but only because I was _making_ it breathe; not even that instinctive act had remained. Where normally I directed my swarm and the bugs _obeyed_ , this was just… puppeting.

The bug was little more than a shell now. There was no consciousness or will, no instinct, and I'd been the one to make it like that.

I didn't know what frightened me more: that I might have broken what little a mind the insect had had, or the possibility that I might be able to do the same to a person. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out, whether or not I wanted myself to _have_ that capability.

A small part of me wondered if a human would end up the same as the beetle, empty and nothing more than a puppet to my power, but I quashed those thoughts before they could bring back half-remembered memories of the monster I'd become. Maybe it was possible, but I didn't want that power, not again, and definitely not like that.

The following tests went more sedately, much of my enthusiasm sapped by what had happened with the bug. I hadn't repeated any of the Blue tests though, even with the impression having energy to spare. No, I had done that and missed out working on the vine, not this time.

I went back to the glass of water.

Perhaps I was rushing into this too quickly, but I _would_ get something out of this that wasn't monstrous.

Flipping to a new page, I hastily scrawled out " _Blue+Water_ " in the margin and set it aside.

Tapping into the impression of the lab, Blue mist wreathed my missing forearm and I reached out. Holding my spectral hand over the cup and rolling my missing fingers, streams of the glowing mist poured down to sink into the water; diffusing through the liquid like a luminescent dye.

I gradually became aware of the water as an irregularly shaped vibrating mass appeared in my swarm sense. After a few moments, I reached the amount I had used the first time, just a fraction of what was in the impression. I added more.

Mist poured off my immaterial fingers, more and more, not stopping until the water shone like a star and the glass glowed a pale blue that lit the green blanket it was resting on. I used enough that by then the impression of the lab had dimmed a little bit.

With the extra energy, I could now feel all the water in the glass, and the cup gave the vibrating mass a shape instead of amorphous blob it had been during testing.

With just a little bit of the Blue, the movement of the water had been sluggish, but with this much… I began by pulling the Blue infused water along the inside of the glass and it responded instantly.

The water was slow at first, but in seconds a gradual counterclockwise turn quickened as it gained momentum. With speed it became easier to move, more reactive.

After ten seconds it was as if there was a miniature whirlpool in the glass. I had to hold it between my knees while I watched the water, getting a better feel for what was happening.

I added a bit more to replace the blue as it was used up while I observed it. More was used where it was moving the water, less where it was moving slower, and almost nothing was lost where the water was stationary. Curious. Was the water able to act as a suspension medium? Also, oddly enough, where the water had picked up momentum it took less energy to keep it moving.

Letting the water go still, I took down the observations with a note to try and properly measure the rate of energy usage to the volume of water being moved.

As interesting as controlling the water was though, what I was doing now was still limited to the confines of a container.

Ridiculous as the comparison may have been, the first thing to come to mind was Leviathan and how he'd use it to swim, but it wasn't a bad one. With my arm as it was, there was definitely something to using the Blue as a swimming aid.

Swimming fast hadn't been Leviathans power though, he'd been _the_ hydrokinetic, water was his domain. I stared at the glowing cup of water.

Memories of the lopsided figure crashing through groups of capes were replaced with the endbringer throwing itself against Scion, water flowing through the air around it.

Again, the comparison was ridiculous, but it did give me ideas: If I was moving the Blue and not the water, was a container even necessary?

Moving the notebook well out of the splash zone, I focused on the glowing water quickly picked up speed until it was brushing the rim of the glass and I pulled.

Immediately the question that came to mind was why would this work? But I immediately countered that with why _wouldn't it?_

First, a drop, then a sliver, then a thin stream of water rose from the glass and rapidly coalesced into a spinning marble.

My lips spread into a slight grin and I watched the marble grow, watching it spin and faster and faster, growing larger as if it was reeling in water from the cup as it spun. I was entirely focused on it, watching the water spin in place; getting a feel for what was happening.

More of the Blue was being used, _a lot more_ , but where the Blue was used up the water was still being moved, either surrounded by water and just… carried along in the current?

Was as if the water was sticking to the infused water?

Concentrating on the glowing sphere, I waited until it was the size of a baseball before severing the flow of water through the umbilical to the sphere. With that the mass was now two vibrating masses; one, a churning sphere, the other a pudding cup.

Keeping hold of the Blue I waggled my 'hand' and the ball was rock steady. The Blue was also disappearing faster and faster. _Too fast_. A dribble of water fell from the ball to the glass.

I had an eye on the impression of the lab as I put a bit more Blue into the water to compensate and it grew just a little bit dimmer as the water grew brighter.

From the center outwards I gradually slackened my hold on the blue until only the very outer surface of the ball was holding it up. It worked, and a few interweaving currents within it kept the water moving with minimal loss, though it wasn't entirely necessary.

Was surface tension all that needed to be maintained?

Observing how long the Blue lasted, stopping the currents and restarting them a few times, that seemed to be that case. But it could be better. The water was weighing down on the lowest point, so if I removed that weakness… As the water began moving within the ball, creating currents that cycled out blue infused water on the surface, the energy loss lessened to a quarter of what it was a minute ago.

"There we go," I breathed, my eyes narrowing at the glowing, churning ball suspended in mid-air.

I let it spin in place for a short while before pulling at one of the currents. Opening a gap in the surface, blue infused water shot but I keep it together as I sent a twisting stream of water over the back of my missing hand before reconnecting with the sphere.

Momentum _and_ surface tension then. Was that really all there was to it?

Experimenting with its shape I pulled at the spheres equator while bringing the poles together, spreading it into an ovoid, then a saucer, then a round-edged disk. I stretched it thinner and thinner and thinner, but it retained cohesion so long as it was held together and in motion.

For a few minutes I just sat there and played with it; pulling streamers this way and that, testing how long it took to lose cohesion without strong surface tension, how long the Blue was lasting and the timing to keep keeping it topped off, it was just so… _simple._ There was no resistance, a blank slate. It was fun.

Moving a fly into position I pulled again and a stream of water shot out to hit the fly. There was barely any pressure to it, the squirt only comparable to a water pistol, but it was something and the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

There were so many applications. Working with the surface tension had promise, but what did it take to keep it together in general? To just… keep it stationary, suspended in mid-air.

For a few seconds, I considered the churning, vibrating mass before taking a breath and stopping it in place. The sphere rippled as the currents suddenly stopped moving, but the surface tension held, and within moments of watching for it the Blue to started disappearing.

The consumption was minor at first, but with every second the strain grew and I had to apply a constant stream of Blue to keep it, and the water, suspended.

It was going as expected though, at this point keeping the water suspended was just a matter of keeping the Blue locked in place, so that was a success. The Blue was still vibrating though, if only so slightly. What would happen if I stopped the Blue completely?

For the next few seconds, I kept slowing the mass and considered stopping; it was taking more and more Blue to make incremental progress. The mass _was_ slowing though, and keeping at it the blue kept slowing until the vibrating mass _stopped._

In that same instant, the water went opaque and the ball vanished from my swarm sense. On reflex I grabbed for the falling ball, but it fell through intangible fingers and water splashed onto my legs.

I stared through water drops on my glasses at the ball of ice floating in the cup.

"Well... isn't that something."

My eyes didn't move from the opaque ball, not even when I removed my glasses to wipe off the water.

Liquid to solid. A phase change. That was a _molecular level_ interaction.

Using the Green to enlarge my insects was one thing, that was familiar _enough_ , but this?

I poked the ball. It was cold. Definitely ice.

The first question was the why, but that was easy enough: It had happened because I'd stopped the vibrating. The _how_ though…

The vibrating mass. The Blue had bound with the water, what if… If those were _water molecules_ I'd been feeling or the Blue that had bound to them, then basic chemistry would explain how it had happened. The exact specifics were still up in the air, like why it would bind with the water on that level, but the fact that the Blue could interact with water on a molecular level... If that was the case, did that also mean I excite the Blue infused water and bring it to a boil?

I stared at the glass of ice water, the frozen ball bobbing and clinking against the cup.

That the answer wasn't just 'maybe' was... _exciting_. So many possibilities, so much I could do with that.

Reaching out to the vibrating mass, I ignored the spherical displacement caused by the ice and _shook_.

It took more of the Blue than was available to make it work, to fuel the movement, but when the water started steaming and the ice began to shrink I knew I had my answer.

A slightly hysterical laugh burbled out as once more I was left wondering what the hell this power was.

Energy from locations? Places having feelings? The impressions? Cellular and molecular level interactions?

What was the common thread?

I bit my lip and sat back as all the details I'd noted came together into a bottomless chasm. Trying to make sense of it didn't work, because it didn't make sense. It was outside my frame of reference, I was in the dark.

The Green and the Blue were obviously two variants of the same thing, their traits and effects predicated on the location, but what was the common thread?

Green let me enlarge bugs a thousand fold, make plants grow and manipulate them like they were silly putty. Blue, meanwhile, turned bugs into vegetables and bonded with water. And to top it off, both were interacting with my passenger in some way.

My lip hurt as I bit hard enough to taste blood.

Above all the others things, it was that interaction that scared me.

How did my passenger play a part in all of this? Was this new power some side effect, or mutation, of what Amy had done? Was it something that came about from being shot in the head, or a result of having been connected to so many parahumans?

So many more questions that arose with every detail I uncovered. Thing power, was like an onion, peel away one layer and there was another.

I sighed and looked inward at the impressions, the dim mountaintop and the faintly shining laboratory. But I didn't try tapping into either, I just… I let it go.

I slowly breathed out. I'd done enough for today, and it was getting late. I could consider all everything after I'd had time for it to assimilate.

Taking control of the whiptail where I'd had it resting after it had hung my costume to dry after washing it, I directed it to the row of steaming pots near the bunker entrance and gave the dyes simmering within a cursory check. The giant spider may not have been able to see the colors, but I could check the water level which was nearly boiled away, the dye concentrated and plant material little more than mush at the bottom. A few empty bottles and it would be ready to go.

A sharp _clack!_ Echoed through the bunker and Artur emerged from within the generator room, tapping a long, straightish stick against the ground, having just unloaded the latest armful of wood.

In the time he'd been working, he had swapped the full face mask with a clean foot wrap and shed layers. At this point, he was only wearing pants, unzipped and only held up by suspenders, and a striped undershirt that clung to him. He pulled the cloth off and wiped his face.

Looking through the whiptail's eyes, I took a moment to observe him as he emerged from the bunker; slim, or _lean_ rather, more of a swimmer or runner's build than a fighter's, though still well built. Working muscle.

Wiping his neck Artur noticed only then that the whiptail was looking in his direction. He paused to stare for a few seconds but didn't stop cleaning up until he tucked the cloth into a back pants pocket and took the stick in hand. Tapping it against the concrete, he looked to the whiptail, then the pots and moved to a pile of twigs and bits of wood he had deposited beside the door to keep the fires burning beneath the pots.

I had the whiptail hold out a leg and he stopped, stared at it for a moment, then looked to the pots. Turning around and approaching, the whiptail scuttled away to give him room and peering into the each of the pots in turn, he looked to the spider and nodded.

"No moore. Unterstand."

His neck and back cracked audibly as stretched in place for a moment before tapping it against the ground a few times and looking up the slope the bunker was built into. I raised my head to look back at him.

Arturs mouth opened as he looked back to the whiptail, but then it closed and his hand came up to slowly scratch at the stubble on his cheeks before he shook his head and began ascending. He used the stick as a walking stick, limping ever so slightly at times and leaning on it once he reached the top to stand over me.

His eyes scanned over my arrangement, unphased, though I noted his gaze linger on the glass of ice water.

I allowed myself a small smile and proffered the cup to him, the ice within clattering against the glass. "Ice water ?"

He stared at the ice for a second before blinking. "Ah… no, ma'am. No zank'you"

I smirked a little at his response. The absurdity of it, me offering him ice water with the situation we were in? A moment later though my lips were twisting into a grimace.

"Ma'am?"

I set the glass down and sighed, suddenly weary of the address. I could understand _why_ , though that didn't make it any more comfortable. "It's alright to just call me Taylor."

Artur shifted and looked into the distance, lost in thought.

I stared at him as the silence began to draw on and sighed. "So, are you sure this is going to kill the mold? Going through a lot of effort otherwise."

He looked back and blinked at the non sequitur, staring for a moment before tapping the stick into the dirt and looking back down the slope a few seconds before nodding. "Da, am con'feedent. Granvather and I, ve do before. See'milar sit'youaytion."

Gesturing in the bunkers direction, he rested the hand atop the other and leaned on the stick.

The man stared into the distance before turning back as he began speaking. He wasn't looking at me, though; his eyes were far away, lost in memory. "Ve find Soviet peellbox, use it for root cellar on many hunt. Sometime use as shelter in vintar. Dooring vone summer eet..." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Ferment is best vord I know. Mold veery deeficult clean, boot easy to cook."

I nodded along. It was sound, in theory. Most things couldn't withstand being exposed to high temperatures for long, let alone an hour—or however long the wood kept burning and the time it took for the air to cool.

"It's just going to be a matter of reaching a high enough temperature then."

"Da. Do know where we go? Vould not be good idea to stay. Animal coold be… drawn by smoke, smell."

I hadn't really thought about it, but I did have a good idea of where I wanted to go. I told him and he shrugged, saying it would be nice to swim a bit.

The trip though… eyeing the improvised hiking stick, I caught his hands tightening around it for a few seconds, knuckles going white. "How's your leg doing?"

"Eet is fine, Ma'—"

"No, it's _not_ ," I snapped.

He was quiet for a long moment and glancing up I saw him staring at me, though he was looking at something far away.

"It vil alvays 'urt, doktor say. Muscle vil heal, boot nurve vas damaged. Baedly. Leg is better, slow and reg'youler movement is vine, but much run'ning is… difficult vor now. Can do, can't do. Depend on day. Weather."

And I'd led him on a merry chase through the forest. "I see, I'm sorry."

He shrugged with the self-depreciation of someone inured to their inability to change something. "Eet is how eet is. Eet does not bothar much." His eyes shifted to my right side. "Does eet bothar you?"

My arm? I shrugged and he snorted.

The casual, relaxed, reaction put a small smile on my lips and I absently rubbed at the rounded end of the maimed limb, feeling the slightly sensitive scab I had gotten evading his shot. "I'm still getting used to being it gone. Sometimes I… I can still feel it."

My fingers stretched out and I made a fist.

For a second my arm was there again, mutilated flesh disintegrating into golden motes before being burnt away while two sets of eyes stared at me from the flames: one golden and sorrowful, the other dark and proud. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and when I opened them the vision was gone.

"I see." Artur was quiet for a long moment. "Eet 'as 'ealed vel, baetter zan most I see. No scar."

"...Yeah."

What else could I say? How could I tell someone who'd be feeling an injury the rest of their life that I'd had my arm mangled, amputated, cauterized, healed only hours later, and that it had only been two weeks since then?

I blinked.

Two weeks. Was that really how long it's been? Was that all?

What had it been at the end? Days at most? It had all happened so fast, one thing after another, and then… we won. Scion was dead, I'd been losing the last shreds of myself, and now all I had worked to preserve was lost to me. The price of winning.

I blinked away the wetness in my eyes. "It hurts," I said, the words just spilling out.

Artur glanced to me then looked away. "Da."

He turned to look out over the island, the mountains and valleys stained bloody and gold by the setting sun, and exhaled slowly. "Is nice view from up here," he said quietly.

I looked at his back, then back out to the island. It felt like he was waiting, giving me a chance to speak, that someone I barely knew was offering was offering me that though… I don't know. Maybe it was a good sign, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Eventually he left, giving me a sidelong look before slowly making his way back down to the bunker to prepare dinner.

I managed to hold out that long before my breath caught.

I swallowed against the block in my throat, choking as my eyes grew hot until it released in a broken sob.

The demons lurking at the back of my mind rushed forth to stab deep.

The questions Artur had answered on the rooftop had confirmed fears I'd superficially considered but never acknowledged _._

This wasn't Bet, Aleph, Gimmel, or anywhere that we'd known of. It wasn't one of the Earths with Parahumans, involved in Scion's rampage, or somehow even part of the same _timeline_. There was no one that knew who I was, no one that knew what I'd done. But what that meant?

Everyone I'd known, they were _gone_. Everything that I had been and worked for, _gone._ Everything that I'd cared about, _gone._

And home… a strained, hysterical laugh leaked from my throat between hiccuping sobs. Home? Brockton Bay was _gone_ , shattered. There wasn't a home to return to, for what little it had been one.

And everyone... my friends, Lisa, Brian, Rachel, Dragon… with the state I'd been in at the very end, they had tried, but at this point they must think I was dead if Contessa didn't tell them. It was probably better that way, but dad, I didn't even— if he was, did he even know…

 _Don't go there._

No, it was one more thing I didn't want to think about, that was one thing I didn't want to know either way.

In this world there was nothing out there for me, no expectations, no burdens to bear.

I was only Taylor here, no one else. Not Skitter, not Weaver, not Khepri, just... Taylor. I was me, whoever that was.

I had gotten what I'd wanted, but I hadn't wanted any of this. Though could I really complain when the alternative was being killed like the rabid animal I'd become, Contessa doing what I'd asked her to?

A voice told me it would be ok. My own voice. A memory of better times. I wanted to believe it, but…

Hugging my stomach I bent double, hot tracks ran down my cheeks as the sun set on the horizon, gold streaks disappearing as red faded into black.

—


	20. Chapter 20

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #05.1

A/N: So yeah, this is the first in what will hopefully be a steady stream of updates. Also, did someone say slice of life?

—

Staring up at the dark, predawn sky, I slowly let out a held breath and leaned back against the tree.

I gazed out across the island at a faint lightening on the horizon; the sun, not yet risen.

It was almost a new day; a new start.

A new day to bring new problems.

OK, so maybe it wouldn't be as easy as just starting over, but I had to begin somewhere... I was going to try.

My eyes drifted shut and I breathed in until the bindings around my injured chest caught, then slowly let it out.

The demons were still lurking in the back of my mind, but I could live with them, _had_ lived with them. It wasn't anything that I didn't know how to deal with, just a matter of acknowledging the problem instead of ignoring it.

Looking down I stared at the worn cover of my notebook, my new journal really, and the place held by my thumb between the pages. With a deft flick I had it open and resting on my knee, the cramped scrawl on the pages lit by the yellow light cast from my lantern.

I may not have felt comfortable speaking about what had happened. But I could write letters, even if they would never be sent.

It wasn't enough, but for now, it was all I could do… small steps.

Closing the notebook I turned off the lantern and looked to the faintly brighter horizon.

It was a new day; there were things to and places to be.

-I-

With the sun still now a sliver of light on the horizon, the brightest source of light atop the mountain was a mixing bowl of burning wood shavings and sticks Artur held in his gloved hands.

"Any reason you're not using your mask for this?"

Artur glanced up from the bowl, the lower half of his face obscured by a damp foot wrap. "No good. Wrong feelter vor smoke, eet vould clog." He shook his head and dumped another handful of crushed leaves and shredded instruction manual into the bowl. "Vill be vine. Cain keep breath."

'Keep'? I blinked, it taking me a moment to translate that into 'hold', and nodded. "Try to work fast, if I think you're taking lag too long you'll feel a pinch on your back. You feel that, get out. Ok?"

Glancing up he met my gaze and nodded once before getting back to it.

Eventually filling the bowl to his satisfaction, he stood and entered the bunker; metal mixing bowl full of fire held out before him. I monitored his progress through disposable bugs scattered throughout the bunker, including the piles of kindling, and on his person.

Starting at the back he shook out a bit of burning kindling onto larger piles of leaves, twigs, and a binder's amount of shredded instruction manual, waited until the wood had caught, then moved on to the next. Each fire was lit fairly quickly, taking thirty seconds approximately, but the time was adding up and he was only in the hallway with smoke already affecting my observers.

My attention was drawn away as the whiptail came up alongside me, my pack on its back after having tidied up my things. Though, before I could grab it, my attention was drawn to the dimmed veins of green visible in the gaps of a carapace and looking into my swarm I noted its presence was dimmer there as well.

I stared at the whiptail and sighed when the presence lessened, if ever so slightly, over several seconds. "It's that time again?"

I'd been hoping it would take longer.

The loss was minor, but if I had been asleep it may well have been dead when I woke up.

Digging the map out of the pack, I set it on the whiptail's back while I slung my arm through the shoulder strap before working my stump through the other. I took a brief moment to pull the straps tight before picking up the map, and tucking it under my whole arm I looked inward to examine the I the jungle covered mountain. The impression was only partially replenished from my depleting it in testing. Though, as usual, once I tapped into it the green smoke appeared around my missing fingers.

I let it resist for a few moments, reminding myself of what I'd learned about it the day before, and being mindful of its volatility touched the whiptail's hard carapace while focusing on the empty spaces. The voids, where the Green had been spent, were slowly propagating throughout its enlarged form even as I worked, but slowly, _carefully_ , I replenished the pure Green that had seen it grow to its current size and been sustaining it since then.

For a few moments I feared there would be a clash between the two, but as I worked it was absorbed all the same. It was somewhat concerning how much it was taking to fill it.

The last time I'd had to do this the whiptail had been the size of a dinner plate, it had still been an experiment. Now though, the cost to sustain it was… I frowned as the impression dimmed and dimmed, but there were still gaps to fill.

I was going to need to test how much of the impression it took to replenish when the energy was at capacity, but I had a feeling this may be unsustainable with only one impression, and certainly so if I wanted to make use of it with plants.

I needed to get another Green impression, there was no other way of sustaining it if I wanted to keep it or others while experimenting more with the Green.

My creation was still capable of eating, and the caloric intake seemed to help sustain it, but only marginally. At this point, I imagined it was very much dependant upon the energy, particularly when keeping in mind the physical limitations of insect biology as a whole. Atlas may have been what I was aiming for when I set out enlarging the bugs, but my steed hadn't _simply_ been an enlarged beetle, instead being a wholly new organism Amy had created with specialized organs and a unique biology suited to its size.

Not so with the whiptail; it was just a normal spider made bigger, and that was the problem.

More specifically, the issue was its book lungs. The organs were perfectly suitable for its original size, but they weren't now. Or they _shouldn't have been_ , but they were still functioning, which meant that the Green was likely the cause and acting as life support for it in some capacity.

Maybe that wasn't wholly the case before I went out into the jungle and supersized it twice over, I hadn't been watching for it then so I couldn't say, but now? No, I doubted it would survive without the Green.

Its lungs aside, however, questions over just what would happen to it if it ran dry—among other things concerning the giant spider—were mounting. Would it simply die due to organ failure? Or suffocate from not being able to get enough oxygen to its lungs? Or would it come apart at the seams without the Green to hold it together?

I didn't know.

My initial run of experiments had concluded with the enlarged bugs simply reverting to their previous sizes, shrinking after being enlarged—though in those cases the changes done to them had been slight. Some had died from the size reversal, but most had lived with the difference between death and survival not being anything I'd been able to pick up at the time. With how big the whiptail was now, however, I would be surprised if it would survive running out, let alone whether it could even shrink back its original size. The Green simply seemed too intertwined with it at this point. The gaps caused by its enlargement seemed to have been filling in a little as the insects' cellular growth 'caught up' with its size, so to speak, but the issue came back to the fact that its biology was incompatible with its size.

My frown deepened as I drew my hand away from the carapace and released my hold on the green. There were always more problems to solve, questions to answer. It was a good enough goal, but, looking to the bunker as several more bugs died from smoke, something to think about later.

My lips pressed into a thin line as I stared at the entrance to the bunker. Artur was still in there.

He was still moving about, tending the fires and had just backed out of the rear hall, but at this point, smoke had filled the radio building to the point that it was now pouring from the air vent protruding from behind the front face of the bunker; having gotten into and followed the ventilation.

I glanced at my watch and the seconds ticked by even as smoke began curling out from under the top of the doorframe. Enough. The ant on his back gently bit him and he jumped, suddenly becoming more hurried, and upended the bowl of tinder over the remaining pile of firewood and rushed for the entrance. Head ducked down with a hand to the cloth wrapped around his face he emerged stumbling, throwing away the faintly glowing mixing bowl once clear before doubling back.

As soon as the doors were shut he ripped off his makeshift mask, doubling over spitting and nearly coughing up a lung.

" _Shit_."

I dropped the map and reached to the small of my back, pulling out a canteen as I moved forward. As quickly as I stepped up and knelt to offer it, however, he waved me off and spat again.

"Is—is vine. Only small amount." He pulled a glove off with his teeth and rubbed his neck then coughed again. "Took time to burn, ven bug bite I lost breath vor momeent."

I grimaced and made to apologize, but looking up the man waved a hand. "Do no vorry. You varn out of cone'cern, I jump. Is vine."

"I… alright." I stood, stepping back and skeptically eyeing his hunched over form. "You're sure?"

The man simply nodded and I replaced the canteen.

Indeed, true to what he said, within a few minutes of rest Artur had risen, gathered his things, and was shouldering his pack— empty, save for some cooking supplies, bedding, and whatever else he'd seen fit to pack with the rest stowed up in a tree. I'd only told him we would be out for the night over dinner, beyond that... nothing was set in stone.

Much of what I had wanted Artur's help for was less necessary now that I had an inkling of what the Green, and Blue, could do. I was left with free time that had once been occupied with using him as labor.

Whatever happened, happened.

I stared past Artur to the bunker face as he buckled his pack and fiddled with the chest straps. For a moment I examined the window, looking for any sign of the fires within through the mud that had been slathered over it as a last minute precaution, but there was nothing. After a moment however my eyes were drawn down, to the smoke just beginning to curl out from beneath the heavy double doors and the glowed red.

Artur stepped and without comment I handed him the map as we turned away from the bunker, trying not to think of the worst that could happen to the place now that the fires were lit. If something unexpected happened… I didn't want to worry about it, especially now that I had a map of half a dozen other "emergency" bunkers as backups, but I had cleaned this place up, I had reclaimed it. It was _mine._

Everything toxic or useful that could be easily removed had been. All of that had been stowed in the airlock gate; desk, chair, filing cabinets full of water, miscellaneous parts from the hallway and more. Now, all that remained was to leave the wood to burn and clean what was left when we came back.

The concern did linger somewhat, however. Going through the effort of making it habitable only to inadvertently make it the opposite? That would be embarrassing.

Mostly though, I hoped the fire didn't cause too much damage to the framework that had held the old drop ceiling tiles.

My slowly growing population of orb weavers had once more been scattered across the mountain, them and the egg sacks. Once the broods were hatched, the hope was that the framework could be used for them. It would save me time coming up with something if nothing else, but the framework would make a good scaffold for clothes.

As we passed through the airlock gate and began making our way down the dark dirt road with the whiptail securing it behind us, Artur partially unfolded the map and looked to me. "So, 'ave decided on direction?"

"I need seawater for my poncho, so the coast."

He nodded once and opening the map brought it close to his face, squinting as he read it in the dark for whatever reason. I reached into a pants cargo pocket and rummaged about the various bits I'd stuffed in it before pulling out and offering him a pilfered penlight.

He muttered his thanks and scanned the map, eyes tracing the roads and coastline. "There is much coast," he drawled and I shot him an exasperated look at the same time he glanced my way.

"I was considering the east docks," I clarified, prompting him to hum and fold out another section of the map.

A few seconds passed and another noise from him made me glance over to see him shaking his head. "Do 'ave partick'yoular reason for dock? No security. Is open location, no shel'tar."

"Hmm. I had thought there might be more there, but if that's the case…" Trailing off I thought back and recalled the map I'd nearly memorized over the past two days. There wasn't much along the coast, at least not on this side of the island, nothing more than sheer cliffs and beaches, which was something. "The beach might be nice then."

That earned me a surprised look, but he turned back to the map just as quickly.

I shrugged. "Why not. The dye will need to sit for a while but beyond that though I didn't have anything else in mind. Might be nice to relax a bit."

I needed sea water, but it didn't matter where I got it from. Maybe the beach wasn't as secure, and maybe I would have to run cover the entire time were there, but that was trivial and thinking about it the idea of just spending the day at the beach was surprisingly appealing.

"No shel'tar on beach, no protect'tion."

"I'll handle that."

Artur nodded and went back to looking at the map, scanning the coast. "Vich beach?"

When I rattled off the grid coordinates Artur was quiet as he examined the spot.

"Is plan to sleep on beach or vant to retorn by night?"

I shook my head. "No, stay out for the night."

Instead of elaborating directly, I landed a small, pale grey moth on the map to draw his eye. "I was thinking to make camp at the Veterinary Complex tonight." I glanced over as he homed in on the location; a loose cluster of boxes; rough representations of buildings situated near an intersection of service roads leading to the East Dock, and positioned near the river leading into the interior of the island.

"If anywhere is going to have thick walls and solid doors beyond the emergency bunkers, then that place would be it. If they can hold the animals, they can keep them out. At the very least it ought to have some strong cages." And if I had the right of it, there were probably some things I could scavenge and make use of.

Artur cocked his head and sucked his teeth as he shuffled the map, following the road from the beach to the veterinary building, muttering to himself— _counting_ , I thought. He was quiet as we rounded the switchback and headed toward the first washed out section of road.

"No pro'test. Plan is vine, but is danger." The soldier tapped the wide, estuary river near the veterinary complex as we came to a stop at the break. "Some note say large animals linger near river. Is salt, boot maybe." He shrugged and handed the map back.

I considered the point for a moment, the risk of encountering the wildlife, before dismissing it. It wasn't something I had even thought about due to it being a non-issue, but to him it was.

Shaking my head I handed the map off to the whiptail which in turn stowed it in my pack. "I've already encountered the Tyrannosaur and I'm ready for it. If the documents you had on the island's species were accurate, then anything we might come across won't be a problem."

Artur stared for several seconds as we came to a stop, his face inscrutable before shrugging. "Zen vy not beach zen?" He then smiled slightly, "It vill be nice I zink, ave neever been."

As he looked down the partially broken trail we'd made the day prior, my mind was caught on his wording, the statement that he'd never been to the beach. It was a small thing, insignificant, but an incongruity that didn't jibe with what he'd told me.

Maybe it was paranoia, _but_... "I thought you spent a month acclimating on the mainland?"

Artur looked back and nodded, his pulse steady. "Da, but vas inland— in inter'rior. In vilderness. Never be to beach, not nee'cessary. See in helicope'ter ven arrive, see vhite sand and clear blue vahter boot no go to."

He stared off into the aether for a moment. I understood. Business before pleasure; something could be right around the corner, but it may as well be on the other side of the planet if something more important came first.

I shot him a small smile. "I guess that settles it. The beach it is, it has been a while since I've been to the beach myself, so it will be nice." I blinked as I recalled the idea I had had before things had been turned on their head. "I might be able to get us some lobster while we're there."

Absently I heard Artur ask how you were supposed to cook lobster, but my thoughts were on the strip of white I could see from the top of the mountain.

A day at the beach.

It would be pedestrian, but pedestrian… that sounded nice.

-I-

"So there's _another_ island with dinosaurs on it?"

I didn't bother keeping the incredulity out of my voice and Artur let out a full-bellied laugh.

"Da, big in vorld news some year back, imposs'ible to mees. More animals zen are 'ere. Vas plan to take to some to America vor zoo, but big predator break out and kill many people in California city."

And they wanted to try turning this place into a zoo _again_?

"So if that island wasn't a zoo like this one was, what was it for? Storage?"

He waggled a hand. "Eet vas ver most of animal ver made. Somme of note show picture of beeg come'plex. Mainy moore zan here, boot danger'ous."

The size of the lab suddenly made more sense, as well as the feeling I'd gotten when sensing the Bue; theater indeed.

"Is 'nat'yure pre'zerve' now," he said, making finger quotes. "Amerecan govorn'meant pass law, but in notes is plan to move animal on ozer island to here."

"They're going to try to relocate an island full of dinosaurs to another island?"

"From island two time as large as dis vone, and da. Moore animal, more type, moore pre'dator. Fly'ing too."

I blinked. "And how do they plan to reclaim this place? The dinosaurs here have been running loose for years. How do they expect to find them all and not get killed in the process?"

"Zey use money I ex'pect. New owner is beeg buisi'ness, veery beeg. Zere vas basic of plan in note, soome military method use. Make vorward base, secure, expand, repeat. Zey track and secure animal as progress."

It was better than no plan at all, but given what had happened to Artur's team, it still sounded seriously dangerous. If they went slowly, methodically, and found some way to detect the dinosaurs, they could mitigate the risk, but it would still take time, and the _expense_ … I held that thought for a moment, there was something there, if I stayed on the island…

Artur didn't continue as I mulled over the vague beginnings of a plan.

I wasn't entirely sure how we had ended up just talking, it had just… happened. A comment leading into a question, a question leading into an answer and so on with each response getting longer and longer until it became an actual conversation leading from one subject to another.

The casual conversation had come easily, surprisingly so.

But then, when was the last time had I actually casually spoken with someone?

There had been the book club, pleasant as it was to just talk about something I enjoyed that wasn't related to capery, but moments like that had been scarce.

Unbidden I had thought back to meeting Nilbog in his 'court'. Imprisoned behind walls, cut off, _isolated._ Nilbog had only his monsters to keep him company, and as a result, he'd become starved for real conversation, for human contact.

Was I like that, or nearing that state? Had I really been so starved for contact? No, not really. However, if I was being honest with myself, without something to ground myself I could see it as a possibility.

Breathing deeply I looked at the trees and foliage on either side of the road, felt the critters in the underbrush and canopy then glanced to Artur plodding along with his walking stick.

If he and his people hadn't come along, how long might I have fumbled around blindly? Playing with the energy for want of nothing else to do until the people who owned this place showed up one day. What kind of state might I have been in at that point?

How would I have reacted then, if I hadn't known anything about this world and seen people arriving with weapons?

The broad strokes of our situations weren't dissimilar and the image my mind conjured was a frightening one.

Staying to explore the capabilities of the energy power was a tantalizing option, but I hadn't really considered the prospect of being alone. Now, though…

I sighed, weary at the lack of progress on whether to leave or stay.

 _Indecision._

I almost snarled at the word put to the feeling. Fuck indecision. I clamped down on that thought.

Channeling my frustration into anger wasn't constructive, but neither was running myself in circles. I just didn't know what I wanted to do, and I didn't yet have enough information to push me in either direction, nor an immediate time limit to force me to make a choice. The actual realities involved in leaving didn't help either; just walking up to Artur's pick up with him had a high likelihood of being an issue in and of itself.

"You said six months the other night, do you remember anything more than that?"

"No, and even zis vas…" Artur spun his hand in thought until he snapped his fingers, "is _vluid_." Zere ver some report note issue vith vehicle and material. Six month is schedule, moore or less. April ate latest."

"April."

"Da, to dodge rain. Is most dry month of year." He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Do plan to stay on island?"

Perceptive.

He had put the question forward though, and he was the one who would have to explain my presence to whoever picked him up. I sighed and shook my head. "I don't know, there are some things I need to—"

I stopped to peer into the dense foliage on our right and Artur continued forward for a few steps before noticing I'd stopped. He turned in place, free hand going to the knife sheathed on his belt. "Ma'am?"

We had been walking parallel to the beach for a few minutes now, and I could feel the occasional hermit crab or beach critter. However, between the jungle and the beach, there was a step-down; a sheer drop nearly fifteen feet high where the jungle transitioned into the beach. I'd been looking for an easier way down, and now I had it.

Searching through my swarm I mapped out a route to and along a dry creek bed that led right to what I had wanted.

"I found a way down," I told him, glancing to him before turning off the narrow dirt road and breaking trail through the dense underbrush.

"So, April?"

"Is as I say, a dry month. Aevter April, zer is rain."

Rain.

I immediately thought back to the storms that had rolled through one after another. Yeah, it made sense if they would want to avoid something like that.

The conversation tapered off from there, neither of us speaking as we wove through the foliage and a minute later we reached the dry creek; from there it was a direct path to the collapsed ledge from there.

I stepped down into the shallow gully at the top of the ledge and carefully edged out to the where the ledge had given way. There was now a slope of broken rock and clumped dirt, young plants growing up in the loose earth. Maybe the creek had undermined the soil stability when the storms had rolled through?

Sending the whiptail ahead I found the soil loose, giving way in a few places where the spider's legs sank in. Overall however, it seemed stable. I descended carefully with Artur following in the footsteps I made, and from there it was a short walk through the thinning underbrush as the soil became increasingly sandy and the foliage transitioned from lush tropical plants and trees into lofty palms and underbrush more suited to the sandy dirt.

Quickly enough we could see the surf breaking between the gaps in the trees, and a minute later we broke through the treeline onto a white sand beach speckled with black rocks, pink flowering ground cover that struck out toward the surf in places, and a few windswept trees.

A cove, a gently curving crescent of beach edged in by a jagged, towering rock on the right that turned the surf into foam as it hit rocks rising from the water, and a toothlike ridge jutting out from the island on the left.

A cool wind blew over the beach, tossing up bits of sand and rustling the palms as we stepped out onto the beach proper.

"Is bright."

At his comment, I glanced up to the sun shining down on us and absently pulled my cap down over my face. "Unfortunately." The downside to coming out here; I'd need to be mindful of how long I spend out in the sun, or on the sand for that matter.

A sudden tremor felt by one of my monitoring bugs had me looking back to Artur to see him squinting as he looked out at the ocean some fifty yards away. He was also leaning on his walking stick rather heavily.

"Yeah…" I glanced down the beach, to the closest of scraggly beach trees.

"How 'bout we set up somewhere in the shade then?" Gesturing to the tree, he looked to where I was pointing and stood a little straighter.

"Da."

My boots sank in with each step I made, dragging as the sand spilled over them. As we trudged through the soft sand, I began to feel the missing fingers on my right hand grow cold and tingle ever so slightly, and the vague sense of something massive loomed in the back of my mind, an unstoppable force crashing down on me then vanishing.

Hairs on the back of my neck rose and I looked around before another chilling tingle prompted me to look down and see the faintest outline of blue beside my hip. Little more than a heatblur, but the Blue mist was there.

I wasn't tapping into the impression of the lab, so… was there a local energy? A source strong enough that it had tripped whatever process triggered my passenger to draw on it?

Artur knelt down in the shade of the tree once he reached it, slowly pulling off his rucksack. I just dumped mine when I caught up.

"I need to take care of something, would you get everything together?"

Artur's head snapped up and he paused in opening his rucksack. "Ma'am?"

"The dye. Will you put my poncho on to simmer for me? I'll have the whiptail bring you wood."

He blinked and hesitantly nodded, then his eyes flicked down, widened a fraction, and snapped back up to mine and he nodded more quickly. "Yes, ma'am."

I didn't give thought to what he may or may not have seen, I didn't need to. Instead, I focused on seizing the opportunity my passenger was giving me. As quick as I could I pulled off my poncho, belt, and boots, then set the whiptail to cleaning up after me before setting out along the beach with the sand pushing up around my costumed feet.

Turning this way and that, I felt the cool tingling in my fingers wax and wane before the force returned and they prickled with ice cold pins. When the presence vanished I was left looking out at the ocean, and I made a beeline for the surf.

I shed more layers as I went, the whiptail following along to retrieve the pants, over-sized shirt, and my costume when I stripped out of it after a few moments consideration. By the time I neared the water, I was only in my bike shorts and chest wraps.

Soft and warm sand turned stiff and damp as I reached the water's edge, the smell of the ocean the strongest it had been since I'd awoken here. Then a wave crashed, cold sea water washing up around my feet for a brief instant, and the looming force solidified, blocking out everything but myself and it. I could do nothing but stare back back at this embodiment of force and movement, this unbearable _weight_.

Then it was gone and I was back on the beach.

The sense of what I'd felt lingered though; waves crashing, the tide coming in and receding endlessly, tearing down cliffs and eroding coastlines, ever shifting and ever… _changing_.

I blinked as the force came and went again, that word sticking in my mind: Change. It had been the concept of creation that I'd felt in the lab, what had been crystalized in the impression. But creation, that was just an aspect of _change_ as a concept, and that word put a term to what the Blue was, and from that pieces clicked together.

The colors were _conceptual_.

A smile pulled at the corners of my lips as the realization sank in, the implications of it growing.

But, as was more immediately relevant...

I looked down at the receding water. I'd wanted more Blue to work with, hadn't I? More Blue, _and_ more water.

I slowly knelt, thinking about what I was going to do, and sank my hands into the receding water, feeling it running between my fingers and dragging sand out with it, and when the water came back I my fingers closed around it.

I stared down the force that had shaped the continents and _pulled_.

—

5.4k... I swear, this was only supposed to be 3k max.

A/N: Happy Belated New Years everyone!

Now, sadly, this isn't an update as intended since 2018 decided to give me one last gut punch and have been laid out for the last few days.

BUT! While not a story update, it _is_ a story status update. So here we go.

Being entirely honest, I didn't have too much of a plan in starting this out beyond the broad strokes and C'est La Vie has just been slowly trundling along since then, I've been working on it and updating when I can (ignoring the unintended hiatus). That said, over a year old now and after working on the outline these past few weeks, I've managed to finish off the overall outline for C'est La Vie and parsed that out into an update schedule. One snip every two weeks over the next year, or one snip every 18.25 days to allow for hiccups, and this story will be finished by this day next year.

Yeah, my update schedule up till now is, generously put, atrocious, but by god I will finish this fucking thing one way or another.

That said, I wish all of you a good year and hope to see what you think as things progress.

PseudoSim


	21. Chapter 21

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #05.2

A/N: In which highly advanced science happens and a wound is re-opened.

—

The ocean's surface gently rolled beneath my feet, rising and falling as the water rolled in and receded.

A slight pull on a fraction of the Blue-infused seawater beneath me kept the surface firm beneath my feet, the surface tension of the water kept stabilized enough for me to stand atop it.

My weight was a constant, if minor, drain on the Blue-infused water, but that _really_ wasn't a concern any longer.

I'd wanted a greater volume of water, but now that I had it—more than I could have wished for—I didn't know what to do with it. And to top it off the new impression in the back of my mind wasn't even half depleted, nor even a quarter.

It was only the cove, not the whole of the ocean, but the results so far... I was _more_ than happy with that. Compared to the Visitors Center lab's capacity, its pool of energy was several times the size from what I'd been able to tell monitoring how it dimmed only slightly after drawing on it.

I stared out at the ocean, out to the horizon before looking down to the churning water beneath my feet; a gordian knot of tangled and twisting currents that minimized the loss of Blue while ready to be called on at a moment's notice… once I had a use for it that is.

It had been like that for a few minutes now, ever since I wove it moments after seizing the new impression. There had just been a rush to just _do_ something with it, to use it, to actualize some of the things that had come to mind the day before. But, when it actually came to doing something with it, that sudden rush had guttered out. It wasn't that I didn't know what to do, rather I didn't know what I _couldn't_ do with it.

The issue was finding a place to start. If the parameters I observed the day prior remained constant as I understood them, then there wasn't much that it _couldn't_ do— esoteric applications aside.

Freezing it, boiling it, shaping it, suspending it— I was only limited by my imagination, and that was the problem. I squinted against the sun and smiled slightly. 'Problem', that was certainly one way to put it.

It was almost laughable, thinking about it that way.

Since coming here I'd developed two _new_ powers, at minimum; powers that on their own would have qualified as a versatile power set. Yet here I was, using a knockoff form of hydrokinesis to walk on water as one of the most _basic_ applications of the Blue.

I shook my head and called on my swarm, defaulting to the drills I had occasionally assisted the other Chicago wards with: _target practice_.

I imagined the exercise was going to be akin to playing chess against myself; not particularly useful for training, but it would give me a starting point to test things, and at the very least it would give me a bit more practical experience in manipulating the water.

From the beach, I heard Artur shout, felt and saw him scramble back against the tree when a series of middling-sized swarms of fliers flew past, making him drop the small whittling knife he'd been using to carve one end of his walking stick.

As the swarms began their approach over the hundred or so feet of water between me and the beach, I spun up the water in time with the fliers scattering on their final approach. The fliers' attack runs were coming from every angle, going wide to circle around, climbing to come in from above, and dropping down to attack from below. They were closing fast, and on their approach I untangled the gordian knot, connecting each strand to the now rapidly spinning concentric rings of Blue-infused seawater that surrounded me.

Spinning clockwise and counter-clockwise, tendrils of water rose up around me and when the fliers entered within a few yards l lashed out. It was cheating, my knowing where they were, but "they" also knew where the tendrils were, and with a little attention, I was able to strike a reasonable balance.

As the battle raged around me, I was struck by the image it inspired; tentacles whipping from the water as if from the Kraken of legend, fending off and tearing apart a desperate flying army. I promptly buried the memories of hydrokinetic monstrosities that followed, wrenching my focus back to the test.

Despite my efforts, and thanks to my efforts, the fliers slowly drew closer even as they were picked off. Bobbing and weaving, diving and climbing, my attacks being dodged even while I countered near misses by splitting tendrils or flattening them to swat the fliers from the air.

A weakness was becoming too apparent though: the tendrils' reaction time was lacking.

The bugs _were_ falling; ten, twenty-two, thirty-eight, forty-four, fifty— A small fruit fly stutter-stepped past a tendril to land on my arm.

I slowed the tendrils and pulled the fliers back for a moment to look at the tiny fruit fly. Its size was _definitely_ one reason it had gotten through, but that wasn't it alone. Its speed, and my tendrils' lack of it.

My eyes narrowed as I considered the weak point: Things too small, too quick, or a combination of both, could get through.

The fliers resumed their attack and, replicating the fly's movements, the attrition rate dropped within moments. More attacking fliers made it through and I was forced to increasingly refine the tendrils' movements, configurations, and attack methods to compensate and counter the fliers' evasion.

In some tendrils biological systems were replicated to pump water, constricting at one end to drive it in a crude imitation of the vascular system, or they were given a pseudo musculature to try and give them twitch reaction times. Both worked, though only to an extent.

In other tendrils I was throwing ideas at the wall while trying to keep myself constrained to energy-conserving methods, such as spinning tendrils out in a connecting double-helix that improved flow and pressure at the cost of dexterity, while in others tendrils were narrowed to use less water over greater distances and extend the reach while increasing their reaction times. There were upsides and downsides to each method. At the same time, in others, I set aside efficiency and brute forced the approach, pulling and pushing the mass and forcing the water to react as fast as I could move it while monitoring the energy drain.

At some point in cycling through methods of moving the water fluid mechanics had come into play. It was a spontaneous development on my part, something I didn't fully notice until it had happened, but when I did vague memories of architectural research suddenly gained new relevance. Plumbing designs were replicated in a number of tendrils, secondary channels or outer chambers taking shape while water was cycled at speed along their lengths; a trap, primed and ready.

I was only left waiting for a few seconds; a hornet dodged past one such tendril and in a fraction of a second a barrier in the chamber was thrown up to block the fast flowing water while simultaneously weakening the surface tension of the 'pipe' carrying it.

The results were spectacular: The rushing water rebounded against the barrier, causing a sudden pressure change, and in a fraction of second the weak point ruptured from the force of the micro-scale water hammer.

The blast of high-pressure water vapor killed the hornet in an instant, tearing through its wings and breaking its fragile body into pieces by tearing apart its joints and thorax. It was only the first.

Several seconds later the attacking fliers began to die in droves as I quickly replicated and refined the design in more tendrils, then that number multiplied when the pressure was augmented with some steam made by accelerating the movement of some of the Blue-infused seawater. The layer of water sheathing the channels had to be reinforced, which slowed reaction times, which in turn made me incorporate the pseudo-musculature and I had to refine it further to compensate for the downsides that brought on, but the end result was that it _worked_.

After several minutes of constant attack, the small swarm was dead. It was a bit underwhelming. _Too_ underwhelming.

With only a moment's consideration, I called on another swarm of expendable fliers to try again, this time re-configuring their number towards heavier, more durable species that I thought may be able to break through.

They came.

They attacked.

They died to the last.

The weaponized water hammer's design had to be modified slightly, greater pressures and more water vapor was required with some of the heavier shelled species, but that was it.

Those were only bugs, however.

The rotation of the rings surrounding me slowed, then stopped, and the tendrils receded as I repositioned a significant portion of the Blue-infused seawater a dozen yards away.

For a few moments I just stood there and surveyed the damage.

The water was littered with insect corpses in a wide area around me, enough so that after the water calmed a number of small silver fish began darting up from below to take them away. An easy meal.

I shifted my gaze to where the water was massing and breathed deep.

The exercise had been effective, more so than I'd expected going into it, but only to an extent; a good test of a microscale application. The question now was if it would scale.

I was only left a short while to ruminate on that before the swarm arrived with the target: a large, waxy-skinned leaf from the jungle as large as my torso. Not the best target, but serviceable for an impromptu test.

 _Best to be careful, though._

Experimenting with high pressures and temperatures like this wasn't exactly _safe_. As a precaution, I enclosed myself in a thin barrier of water several millimeters thick, holding the water still so that the barrier was transparent.

The fliers moved to hover in place above the faintly glowing spot the Blue-infused water had concentrated at and I held the image of the water hammer design in my head. Making several tweaks to the design and modifying it for scale I raised a single, Kraken-sized tendril from the sea and pointed its tip at the leaf.

Pulling at the mass of Blue-infused seawater composing the tendril, shapes began taking form; voids were created, 'pipes' tested and reinforced, complex structures rapidly incorporated and refined to channel the water efficiently, and beneath it, in the main mass, water began rapidly cycling through it to create a torrent of rushing water.

For nearly a minute I kept the construct primed but in standby, measuring and gauging how it held up as well as what needed to be reinforced and what could be refined further.

It had been overbuilt to keep the growing pressure contained, but in the time I monitored it I slowly stripped away water from where it wasn't needed, added somewhere it was, or pumped in unenergized seawater to lower the production cost until only what was necessary remained; no more, no less. Then I slammed shut the pipe the water was cycling through, weakened the tendril's tip, and flash-boiled a portion of the water.

In a fraction of a second, gallons of rapidly moving water slammed forward into the barrier, rebounded back along a U-bend, and broke through the weak point.

One moment the swarm of fliers held the leaf aloft, in the next they were dead, and steam intermixed with a bit of Blue-infused water billowed out to shroud the immediate area; the outside of my protective shell was fogged over as water vapor percolated on the outer surface.

My mind's eye was fixed on the dispersed Blue-infused water in an instant as the steam expanded, watching it billow out in my swarm sense and erase a number of fliers I'd had in the vicinity. But then it was gone, falling into the water and running out of energy or merging with the rest of the mass before I could fully grasp it.

I filed away the observation though, mulling over possible applications of that as I probed the temperature of the steam with my swarm for a few seconds and dropped my defences only once my swarm felt the steam cool enough for my swarm to survive in it.

Survivable was by no means cool though, and I was hit by a blast of humidity that made me think I'd stepped into a sauna and all but felt my unwashed hair frizz.

It took the gentle breeze coming off the ocean a few seconds more to clear the air, but once the steam was gone I was left looking at tiny fragments of leaf and dead bugs littering the surface.

For all intents and purposes, the target had been utterly destroyed.

I extended the Blue-infused mass out before me to form a stable path of calm on the water's surface and walked to the testing location, stooping once I reached the testing spot to pick up a bruised bit of leaf.

So the water vapor had hit it hard enough to bruise the cellulose?

My lips thinned. Or… had it been the steam or the pressure of the water vapor that did the damage?

Regardless, it had been effective and while maybe not deadly, it would be devastating to an unprotected target; someone hit by that would require immediate medical attention.

Though… that had _only_ been water. If I had added something to the water, like sand or gravel, _shrapnel_ , I would have turned the water hammer into a shotgun; it had been moving more than fast enough to carry debris. High-temperature water damage in conjunction with shrapnel wounds? That would've been deadly, no doubt about it.

I grimaced as a sour taste grew in my mouth. The idea that what I'd made was purely offensive, however, that _that_ was the first thing I came up with… releasing the fragment of leaf to be carried off by the wind, I was left wondering what to do next.

For a minute, I reviewed the various methods I had used, noting which had or hadn't worked against the fliers, and which could be repurposed to other uses. But among the methods, I'd used to augment the tendrils, one of them stuck with me; or rather something tangentially related to it did.

The replicated circulatory system had worked, to a degree, but it was the idea of replicating biology with the Blue-infused water that caught my attention, _hard._

I glanced to my stump then raised my remaining arm to the sky, turning my hand to look at it from every angle.

 _Was it possible?_

My eyes narrowed and I discarded the doubt. No, the real question was if it was _practical_.

Simply shaping the Blue-infused water cost it a small bit of energy, moving took a bit more than that up until conservation of motion came into play, and maintaining a shape took even more. Actually moving a set shape though, making minute modifications every second, that would drain it even with the most conservative of movements and energy conservation methods I'd figured out so far— it had been by far the greatest drain on the Blue-infused water making up the tendrils during the simulated attack.

But...

Still examining my arm I slowly sat down on the water, absently noting the odd, slightly damp sensation of the surface before returning to my examination.

The question was how to go about shaping it. I could do it from memory, build it slowly until it was a mirror of my left arm… or maybe make a mold? After a moment of consideration, the mold option came off as the simplest and quickest method to test. Opening a hole in the surface beside me, I reached down to just past my elbow, where Amy had rounded off my other arm's stump, before closing the water around it.

The water was cool and had that damp-not-wet feeling, then cold and constricting as I tightly wrapped my arm in Blue-infused water.

Fixing the surface tension to make the mold, I split it open enough to pull my arm out and, shifting the arm-shaped void to my right, I stuck my stump into the opening before sheathing my stump in a thin layer of water to connect it and grip the maimed limb. I didn't draw it out though, hesitating for a few moments and testing the hold it had on my stump before separating the mold from the rest of the mass and lifting it high.

I breathed deeply as I stared at it, a lump forming in my throat.

And just like that, I had two hands again. Two _left_ hands, but hands nonetheless.

A happy laugh burbled up as I pulled and pushed at the hollow, arm-shaped mass of blue in my swarm sense. Lifting the prosthetic in front of my face, I slowly closed the fingers to make a fist then stretched them wide. The simple motion was slow at first, but once I reached the thumb— in place of a pinky —it was then almost reflexive and only took an absent push to flex the transparent digits.

Staring at the arm, it felt like a hole that I'd never noticed had been filled.

I was whole again.

I blinked away a bit of wetness and, bringing the arm close, I ran my living hand over it and felt the damp coolness, the unresisting shell of water that made up the hollow prosthetic… My stomach clenched and I gripped the arm hard enough that my fingers hurt but I felt nothing from it.

My flesh and blood hand shook, trembled, but the watery one remained rock still and steady even when my stump trembled because I didn't _make it_ move.

I let go to stare at the prosthetic and was suddenly struck by the alienness of it the feeling soured.

It wasn't the same, it wasn't _my_ arm… nothing more than a pale imitation.

The prosthetic was _functional_ , certainly, I wasn't going to deny that, but it was… _not_. I searched for a word to put to the feeling, but the closest word I could think of to describe it was ' _weak'_ and even that seemed inaccurate.

It may have been hollow, but that meant nothing if I could get enough momentum behind it. I could knock teeth out if I punched someone with this. It being water was irrelevant; hit the water fast enough without breaking the surface tension and it would be like hitting concrete. But…

Extending it to my side, beyond the still waters I sat on, I dragged the fingers through the water and felt nothing; no cold or dampness, no warmth from the sun, nothing.

The prosthetic was like a shell, or a balloon, and one only kept from popping by the Blue and my conscious attention.

There was nothing to it.

I stared at it, wanting it to be better, to feel the wholeness I had before and as if in some vain attempt to ameliorate the issue I added more Blue-infused water to create a framework within the fake limb.

It did next to nothing. The most it did was let me circulate the water more easily.

I wracked my brain to think of a solution but the source of the uncomfortable feeling wasn't a physical one, rather a mental one: it was psychosomatic.

The absence of my arm hadn't been bothering me since I'd awoken on the island, not really, and I hadn't thought twice about the good fortune of not being saddled with that kind of mental trouble. Whatever function its absence served in letting me interact with the impressions and Colors had probably helped, but now— "Chtob ya sdokh, chto za khuynya?"

I froze, only then becoming aware that Artur had stopped working at his walking stick, had stopped doing anything else altogether, and was watching me through a pair of binoculars.

On the beach, Artur lowered the binoculars. "Bozhe moy, v kakuyu khuynyu ya vvyazalsya na etot raz?"

I snapped around to look back over my shoulder, the tone of what he'd said suddenly making me feel self-conscious. It was something, something about what he had said, but then there was the image: me, doing all I had been doing in plain sight… I hadn't even given discretion a second thought. Without a second's thought, I enclosed myself in a thin shell of Blue-infused seawater and sank beneath the waves.

My impromptu bathysphere descended ten, twenty, thirty feet, forty before reaching a rock and sand seabed. I absently spread out the mass of Blue to anchor myself in place, weighing myself down in the sand and latching onto the rocks; only then did what I'd just done with the Blue sink in. There was complete and utter silence as I stared out into the dim depths, the light from above scattered and flickering, ever-shifting as the tide churned the surface above.

I was quickly drawn from my thoughts by all there was to see down here, the sheer volume of life. Small seagrasses grew in the sand, while flat, disk-like corals extended out horizontally from a shelf of rock a short ways away and red, fan-shaped ones grew upward while a dozen other types in every color and shape grew out in all directions to make intricate, multi-colored mounds of sea life.

A lone shark swam in the distance, pale grey and white-bellied while silver-bodied and yellow-tailed fish schooled away from it.

Nearby, small, orange-bodied fish darted between rocks and coral outcroppings.

I blinked in surprise when a larger, brightly colored fish with oversized front teeth lazily bit off a piece of coral.

It was all so… _otherworldly_ , but beautiful. Slowly sitting back, I rested my head against the shell of my little bubble to watch for a while.

It was some time before I forced myself to face reality again and took a few minutes to notify a stressing Artur that I was still keeping watch, send an air tube to the surface so I didn't _suffocate_ , and a dozen other things to vainly stave off having to acknowledge the situation. I couldn't ignore reality forever though.

A shadow of the uncomfortable feeling returned when I finally looked down again; less so than before, but there, like a sour aftertaste in my mouth. The worst part was that I knew it wouldn't go away, not easily, not if Defiant's rare, candid comment on his tinker-tech prosthetics were anything to go by.

A 'pebble in the shoe' was what he had described the feeling as. An apt description, now that I knew what it felt like. The uncomfortable feeling was something that had nagged at the edge of my consciousness, a discordance that I couldn't resolve. The limb was there but not there… phantom limb syndrome.

At least Defiant had recovered his sense of touch and had had brain implants to manage his new limbs.

I sighed and 'rolled' the fingers, this time pulling at some of the structural supports in conjunction with the shell itself. I half imagined it was like pulling a ligament. Again, it helped, but it just wasn't the same, and the uncomfortable feeling persisted. My discomfort aside though, I needed to make this work, I couldn't just throw away something like this.

I sighed and examined it with a critical eye, gently biting my lip as I looked it over.

Maybe fixing the shape would help?

It paradoxically was and wasn't a minor thing to reverse it, turning it from a left hand into a right; it just took inverting its shape in my swarm sense. However it didn't alleviate the feeling as expected; instead, if anything, correcting the hand only exacerbated the feeling. The very malleability that let me fix it reinforced the idea that its presence was transitory.

The prosthetic was there, but… _impermanent_. If I lost focus, or lost access to a water source or ran out of the Blue, it would just fall apart. It was… the water the limb was made up of wasn't _solid_ , not in the conventional sense; there was little actual _substance_ to it.

As if to prove myself right, I released my hold on the mass of Blue representing the prosthetic and the water constituting it splashed across my lap before quickly soaking into my shorts. I swallowed, and staring at it the void left with the prosthetic's dismissal suddenly yawned; a numb hollowness left in its absence and the most pronounced the feeling had ever been, as if my arm had only just been removed.

Pins and needles ran all the way down the arm that wasn't there and I grabbed at my stump, gritting my teeth against a sudden stab of bone-deep pain.

The feeling was all in my head, I _knew that_ , but that didn't lessen the effect it had, didn't dampen the pain.

Eventually, the pain faded and I wearily stared at the empty space where my hand was making a fist, my nails damn near digging through my palm.

I shut my eyes against the feeling and reminded myself that it was all in my head.

It was one thing to know something intellectually, but another for it to actually matter; this was one of those cases.

Cold spreading across my lower half drew my attention and I latched onto the distraction. My eyes slowly cracked open and I frowned at my lap, at the pooling water slowly soaking through and making my legs cold… the Blue was still there though.

I absently pulled at it and drew the water from my clothes.

What the water had been wasn't lost to me though.

Gathering it before me I shaped it into another arm and I examined the faintly glowing prosthetic.

I could use it, it was never the case that I _wouldn't_ , but as it was… I grimaced as my stomach twisted. Maybe… maybe familiarizing myself would help.

Within the mental image of my swarm sense I pulled and pressed at the mass of Blue-infused water representing the arm, and in turn, the fingers curled, stretched wide, made a fist, pinched the index finger and thumb together and went through a wide range of motions. It was clumsy at first, but simple gestures quickly became second nature as I moved, pulled, and pushed at the blue mass to perform increasingly complex motions.

Unfortunately, throughout the practice session, it became increasingly apparent there was an ever so slight lag, a delay in giving the instruction and it actually happening; faint, but ever present. Nothing I was doing though, just a matter of how fast the prosthetic could respond.

It quickly became clear that the prosthetic's reaction time wasn't as fast as my normal arm, but in practicing with it I had to fully acknowledge the looming fact that it would never feel _natural_. I would forever have to maintain its shape and every aspect of its shape, consciously make every motion when using it... but I could do it, with it I would nearly be back to full capacity.

In too many ways though, it was worse than not having an arm at all.

Before, my arm had just been… _gone,_ missing, not there, and its interaction with the Colors had alleviated feelings of loss, for better or for worse. Now, after making the prosthetic, the absence was a near constant, always at the fore of my mind, and even if I used the prosthetic it as well would be an ever-present reminder.

I couldn't just _forget_ that my arm wasn't there. As things were now though, it would be better to use it than not, at least then I would get something out of it.

It didn't escape me how vain I was being, but… I grimaced and clutched at my stump. I didn't know what to think about it. Happy, _ecstatic,_ that I had a way to remedy my weakness, but that all felt hollow now.

The only thing I could think right then was that it was the mechanics of it that were the source of the unease, or one part of it. If I could alleviate the uncomfortableness, if I made the prosthesis better, _simplified it_ , made it less… obvious, maybe then it wouldn't be so uncomfortable.

Wrapping it was one thing that could work, but if I could detach myself from the idea that I was controlling it?

The idea of replicating biology with the water surfaced for a moment, and if not for the complexity being a non-issue I would've been forced to discard the notion; as I wasn't though…

The human body didn't move simply by individual muscles being pulled, but it was an interconnected system; there were the ligaments which pulled the muscles which moved the fingers and so on. A disconnect with cause and effect. That...

Dismissing the framework within the arm I was left with only the shell; the dermis layer. A blank slate to build from.

I struggled to recall as much as I could from senior year biology and anatomy courses, thinking back to textbooks and video lectures on how muscles, bones, and ligaments interacted, but eventually I fixed the image of a flensed arm in my mind. Pulling at the mass of Blue in my swarm sense, shaping it, a new prosthetic attached to my stump. I didn't look at it, barely acknowledged it was there, only reached it across my body to the fruit fly on my wrist and feeling at my intact arm; working my remaining fingers and monitoring which muscles moved against the prosthetic's fingers.

Within the arm rising from the floor, I created an elbow joint at the base, and from that outgrew a radius and ulna, then from there raised a tendril of water that split into a dense cluster of tendrils that wrapped around the 'bones'.

Within seconds the complexity grew exponentially from the simple construct, but I knew every part of its construction in my swarm sense.

 _I could do this._

—

Translations:

"Chtob ya sdokh, chto za khuynya?"

-Translation: Something like "Fucking hell, what the fuck?

"Bozhe moy, v kakuyu khuynyu ya vvyazalsya na etot raz?"

-Translation: My God, what the fuck did I get into this time?

A/N: Oh hey, something became longer than intended, what a shocker, though at the same time this is shorter than originally intended... But yeah, not all I wanted to put in here but ran into some laptop problems with my daily driver giving up the ghost after 10 years of use and lost some data that set me back a few days, but that's passed. Also, a note regarding updates, I am starting a new semester so that may set things back a bit at first and at busy times, but I will be updating within 18 days of the prior update no matter what.


	22. Chapter 22

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #05.3

A/N: In which different dialogue than intended happens and I finally get this posted. Not 100% with it, it changed more than a few times, but it's out now.

—

It had been surprisingly easy to lose track of time while beneath the waves.

Sitting in my bathysphere, working on the prosthetic and taking the occasional break to sit back and watch the sea life, the time had passed quickly. It was peaceful enough down there that hours had gone by before I knew it, though, despite the relaxing environment, no small amount of that time had been spent mulling over how to address yet another a problem that had arisen.

At least some good had come out of the problem in that it'd forced me to reconsider just how I'd been approaching my prosthetic.

By the time I detached my bathysphere from the seafloor and began ascending to the surface it was past noon. In that time, the majority of the Blue that infused the seawater had been spent in maintaining the improvised submersible, though it hardly mattered at this point; it had been energy well spent.

Through my observers, I noted Artur looking up from his project as I broke the surface. His heart rate increased a bit, and he tensed a bit, but surprisingly, those minute changes and signs made him seem more resigned than anything. Regret at being caught?

Once the shell fell I rose and began walking towards shore on the path of stable water extending out before me.

Artur stared at me the whole while, not attempting to cover up what he'd done, but my attention was on the walking stick— even if it couldn't really be called that anymore, particularly since he'd been turning it into a damn _spear_.

It wasn't _just_ a simple sharpened stick though, no. Had that been the case I would've dismissed it and he probably could have made up some excuse about it still being a hiking stick that way. No, instead he'd made it by affixing a Kalashnikov's front sight and muzzle onto one end and mounting his bayonet on it.

Subtle, it was not.

On one hand, I could commend him on how industrious he was being, but I hadn't given him back his guns for a _reason_. The agreement we'd brokered over dinner had been straightforward: I would protect him in exchange for a ride off the island. Excepting a few ground rules, _like him not being armed_ , that was it.

To further complicate the issue, that _this_ was the end result for the parts he'd taken prior to our leaving the Visitors Center meant he'd had this planned since then at the latest. Though technically Artur making his spear didn't _strictly_ go against my 'no guns' rule, it did toe the spirit of it pretty damn hard.

There was the fact that it was difficult for me to judge him for making it since I'd been all but gone for _hours_ , with minimal outreach on my part in that time. _I_ had been the one to leave him up here all alone; unarmed, and to him, _undefended_.

Even if I had been keeping watch and had the whiptail occasionally coming by with more firewood, I hadn't exactly been _conspicuous_ with my swarm. I could see how he might have thought I'd abandoned him; there was a _very_ clear difference between overt security and covert security after all.

On the other hand, though, there was the fact that he'd had this planned out and that he hadn't spoken up _once_ in the time I'd been gone. This was particularly damning since I'd led him around the mountain yesterday and he _knew_ I would've responded if he'd asked something.

'Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission' then?

It would be hypocritical to condemn him for it, but I didn't like the feeling of being put into this position. Not one bit.

Stepping from my path of stabilized water I walked ashore.

Artur's attention was fully fixed on me now, his project forgotten. However, as I crossed the sand, I noticed he was staring at the prosthetic.

I ignored his questioning gaze and subsequent look of revulsion as I walked past him to my pack.

Digging through with both hands, I pulled out and pocketed several odds and ends or set things aside before digging deep enough to extricate the first aid kit I'd assembled after pilfering the cabinets of the Visitors Center infirmary during my first day there. Nowhere close to as sanitary— or as high quality —as the supplies Artur's group had brought along, but I'd kept them on hand for more utilitarian purposes.

Improvised stand-ins until I could settle down for a few days to ramp up my silk production.

Popping the plastic tabs on the off-white plastic box I took out a few rolls of gauze and put it back.

Stale and yellowed as they were the bandages weren't fit for medical use, but with what I intended they would be fine for the time being. Unraveling the rolls I tossed them into the murky, brownish-red dye-bath made from mixing all the dyes I'd made and grabbed the stick Artur had been using to push them deeper into the pot.

"You 'ave new arm."

I half turned to see Artur looking back over his shoulder, eyes fixed on my prosthetic as I stirred the pot with it. His eyes followed the movements of the internal bundles and cords beneath the transparent 'skin' before I cleared my throat and he forced his gaze away to met my returning stare.

"It's more of a prosthetic than an actual arm," I answered.

"Da. Ees... veery real'istic. Does 'elp vith looss? Vith loost arm," he clarified, _still_ examining my prosthetic. He was regaining a bit of color though, and the discomfort gradually being replaced with a look of almost morbid curiosity.

"Not particularly, no." To an extent, it _was_ helping, and the restoration of my full dexterity was appreciated, though it didn't bring back the lack of discomfort I'd had before. "It feels more like a puppet."

Letting go of the stick I absently pulled at fake ligaments and prodded muscle. His breath caught and his eyes widened as the hand extended and rolled its fingers before making a fist; the movements were simultaneously too fluid and too mechanical to be natural though, starting and stopping, flowing.

"I pull the strings and it dances," I said as I demonstrated. The movements may have been exaggerated slightly, but that really was the best comparison.

His mouth opened as if to ask a question, but then he glanced up at my face and looked away. He didn't comment further, simply staring at the prosthetic for a few more seconds more before turning back to work on his spear.

I looked over to inspect his work more closely once his back was turned while reaching into the simmering dye-bath. Pulling and pushing at my poncho to let the dye be absorbed better my eye was drawn to the work he'd done.

His creation was nice enough I figured, if only from a functional perspective; the mostly straight length of wood had been carved uniformly smooth in places with simple grip texturing cut into the upper and lower thirds. My eye was drawn to the head though, notably to the bit of wood I could see protruding from the muzzle. Compared against the almost inch thick diameter of the stick, there really wasn't all that much of it and the wood the hardware was fitted to looked like it was pencil thin.

Too thin to actually be of much use now that I thought about it, too thin to be _practical._

I stared at it, frowning as I pulled my prosthetic from the simmering dye.

It didn't make sense though. Of course, the steel blade would be better than a sharpened stick, but what if he needed to use it more than once? It was more likely to snap off than anything else if it came down to it.

Shifting my focus down, to where he was carefully winding thin steel wire around several nails extending up to the front sight, I could only think he knew that as well.

But again, _why_?

The most concerning option was beginning to seem like the most likely. He wouldn't need more than one use if he was planning to use it against me— or so he'd think. Unfortunate for him that he hadn't bothered to check the blade's effectiveness against my poncho or suit. But... even if he succeeded, what about the wildlife?

I only had one spare magazine on me for the sidearms they had been using and I'd seen just as well as he had the amount of damage it took to put down one of the raptors. The details I'd uncovered about their internal physiology during my hurried processing of their corpses had only emphasized their hardiness. He couldn't think it would be effective against the other dinosaurs, could he?

It just didn't make sense.

Still, the doubts lingered. If it wasn't meant to be used against me, and it _was_ meant as a last-ditch defense, then it wasn't a very good one when a sharp stick would probably serve him better.

I couldn't just ask him straight out though. Disregarding that he'd lie out of hand if it was meant as a weapon, it might give him the idea that it was a danger to me and _then_ make him think about trying something.

That was something I needed to nip in the bud.

"If you unwrap the wire I can glue it in place with spider silk. It should help hold together a bit better."

Artur slowly stopped winding the wire to look at me for a moment. His mouth turned down into a frown and looking back to the weapon he sighed, shoulders slumping. "You zink vil break all'zo?"

"Looks like it. How much wood did you have to shave off to make that fit on?"

"Much," he admitted, confirming my thoughts on its viability.

I hummed, though considering him and not the spear. His ease in answering boded well.

Scratching the thickening stubble along his jawline he studied the 'spearhead', his eyes narrowing. "Ment to make fast, boot..." He was quiet for a bit, shaking his head before looking to me with his brow furrowed. "Vat mean by spi'dare make gloo?"

"Capture silk," I clarified "It's the sticky part of a spiders web. I could have my spiders line the wood so the front sight will be glued on rather than just fitted in place."

He stared at the spear a moment longer and shook his head. "I do noot—"

I shook my head while moving from the pot as the Whiptail arrives with the equipment belt and thigh holster it had stowed away. "I don't care that you made it and I'm not trying to sabotage it. If you needed a security blanket you could've told me and I would have helped."

He stopped mid-scratch and grimaced.

"Just think on it for a bit. I'll be going for a run, so just give a shout. I'll hear it."

The man was quiet for a long moment before giving me a shallow nod.

He went back to work on his spear when I sat to pull on my socks, boots, and costume but looked up from his work once I left, following me with his eyes until I entered the treeline.

-I-

Legs pumping, my breathing coming in short, measured bursts, I pushed myself to keep going as I jogged down the unbroken jungle trail and my brain pumped out a steady dose of endorphins. The sandy soil toward the beach made it more strenuous than I was used to, giving resistance to each step, but I managed it without my breathing becoming overly difficult.

What had begun earlier in the day as a short jog to relax and acclimate to using the prosthetic while on the move, had since become a considerably more rigorous testing session. Once my ribs turned out to be less of a concern than I had thought they'd be it had just grown from there.

It was almost like getting back into my routine, though the air was cleaner and the noises of traffic replaced by the wildlife. It was soothing.

Of course, less of a concern didn't mean there was _no_ concern. My chest still hurt with every breath, but it had since become a dull— if constant —presence and I didn't push myself beyond what I thought was safe.

It was a weight off my mind, knowing that the injury wouldn't be slowing me down in an emergency.

Eventually, my jog had become a combination of a light obstacle course and relaxing run where the route had allowed. The slower sections letting me settle into a comfortable pace and clear my mind, while in turn, the faster-paced obstacle sections had helped acclimate me to using the prosthetic. Using it was almost reflexive now— still slightly delayed, but not to any meaningful degree.

Looking ahead, the final set of obstacles finally came into range and I began picking up the pace as the ledge separating the beach from the jungle came into sight.

Manipulating the arm-shaped mass of Blue in my swarm sense, my prosthetic came apart and shot forward as a solid stream of water to where I marked out the ledge with some of my swarm. In mid-flight, the stream of water stretched, thinned, folded— I manipulated its shape until it became a series of steps rising to the top of the ledge.

I hit the steps running, taking them two at a time while simultaneously recalling the water and reconstructing my prosthetic from the small amount that had remained attached to my stump. Reaching the top, it took only a few steps before the complex facsimile was whole again and I was batting away overhanging vegetation as I broke trail.

With firmer soil, I was soon gaining speed and closing on a black boulder in the middle of my course.

I threw my hands out at the very last moment, planting them against the rough surface and hauled myself over it.

Another hurdle followed soon after— a small log that I could jump, then an imagined ravine bridged with water from the prosthetic immediately after. Re-making my prosthetic, I accelerated once again as I ran for a small area free of vegetation— not quite a clearing, but close.

Breaking through the foliage I slid to a stop, digging my feet in before I came to a full stop and turning I threw the prosthetic forward; fingers spread, palm out. From the center of my palm, an almost invisible line shot out; silk, drawn from my reel of Darwin's Bark silk placed within the prosthetic and animated by the thinnest layer of Blue-infused water I could manage.

It only stood out when the water covering it refracted the light, revealing a glittering line racing through the air. Exactly ten feet of thread shot out in a straight line before taking a sharp turn to wind once around the soft trunk of a tall, elephant-eared plant before tying itself off with a simple knot.

There were a _multitude_ of ways in which I could put this to use, from pulling someone's feet out from under them to entangling a hostile's gun, binding an attacker's limbs, deploying tripwires, and so on.

Those were 'gentle' options, things better— and more safely —done with larger diameter cord, for this, I didn't hold back in pulling back as hard as I could. The thread tightened around the soft bark and dug in like a garrote, then with a sudden twist to follow my prosthetic's movement I ripped back with as with as much force as the prosthetic could exert.

The thread tore through the soft trunk with a drawn-out _snick_. In seconds the thread nearly cut through the trunk in its entirety when suddenly the reel jerked forward in its 'housing' and stopping the prosthetic mid-pull I released the hold on my arm to slow to a stop.

The water construct hung frozen in mid-air, giving the finger to conventional physics as I turned back and stepped to stand over it. With an absent thought the prosthetic peeled open and I checked the reel, but seeing it hadn't cracked or deformed sealed it up and re-affixed it to my stump.

I frowned while it tightened around my stump— the relative anchor point I used to orient the prosthetic —and stepped out of the way when the tall plant began to tilt, quickly gain momentum, and come crashing down. What remained of the trunk broke completely with a soft crunch and carefully rewinding the reel I walked around to the base.

Setting the tiny male orb weaver stowed away with the reel to cut the knotted end, I crouched to examine the green, exposed heart of the trunk to see the thread had cut through with relative ease.

From the outside in, the edges of the plants' fibers were cleanly cut. That changed from the center out. Increasingly longer and more ragged, I was able to track exactly how far I'd been able to cut before it'd lost momentum and gotten stuck.

It seemed I needed to revisit the reel mount and thread channel.

Pulling my knife though, I stabbed into the trunk with as much force as it would take to penetrate flesh. It was a close approximation, but the plant was a _bit_ tougher… not sure how it would do with a bone though.

Chewing my lip I considered it for a moment before shrugging. Fix the reel compartment, then figure out much force the water could exert when moving it; for now, I had _more_ than enough information to work off of.

The exercises had been an unmitigated success. Some quirks and inherent limitations with the prosthetic— and by thus the water manipulation —had revealed themselves, but beyond that…

A satisfied smile pulled at my lips as I reached out to run a flesh and blood finger over the tree stump, feeling the soft fibers that had kept it upright before rising to stand and stretched my arm and prosthetic high. My loudly popping vertebrae signaled the end my exercise and moved back to the middle of the small space.

Standing there, listening to the noises of the rainforest around me and the crashing waves in the distance, I began ramping down from my run.

It had been a good run and an even better learning experience.

I ran my prosthetic across my forehead in place of a damp towel and began going through the motions of my post-run stretches while mentally reviewing everything that I'd done.

In an odd way, using the prosthetic like I had been— in ways that emphasized its unnaturalness —had lessened the dissonance somewhat. It was less unsettling than all the measures I'd taken to alleviate the feeling. A confirmation of my hypothesis.

Treating it as less of a replacement for my arm and more of a tool, or even an aspect of my power, and not as something it wasn't had helped. Somehow. But regardless of the cause, it was progress.

I Idly considered what it might mean as I combed back a few hairs that'd come loose from my braid while checking the work done by several orb weavers delegated to helping Artur.

Together they checked over the silk lining the whittled down end of his walking stick before retreating.

 _"Be careful, you won't get a second chance,"_ I said through the swarm gathered in the branches of the scraggly beach tree.

Heeding my advice the man slowly, but carefully, lined up the front sight and muzzle over the carved wood before pulling it into place. It took a few seconds of twisting to get it snug against the base, but when he gently tugged on the 'A' shaped front sight it didn't budge. Looking to my Whiptail, which he seemed to have taken as my avatar rather than speaking to nothing, he nodded. "'Is stuck."

" _I told you it was strong."_

He shrugged. "Da… And zank you."

" _You're welcome._ " I paused. _"So, what is left to do?_ "

Looking up from examining his work Artur stared into the distance.

"Vor now need make hole to peen een place." He absently brushed an exposed bit of wood near the end of the muzzle brake that was exposed. "Ay'nd need garve chock to beater sea'cure— too ay'tatch strengthen pieces. Ay'fter zat is… extra. Dee'tail."

" _I see._ "

He quietly went back to looking over his work and had taken up his carving knife— a small, inch-long paring knife shape blade with a thick grip —and refined some points along the haft before his watch let out a quiet ' _beep!'_. Glancing at the inside of his wrist he moved to the small pot of rice he'd set up alongside the dyepot and lifting the lid a small plume of steam billowed out.

The pot was open for only a moment though before he turned to face the whiptail. "Ma'am?"

" _The rice_?"

"Da. Is reedy. Eef stee'l vant lobstair, vil need get soon."

I let down a foot I'd been pulling into the small of my back and checked my watch: Four-thirty. An hour or so to eat, clean and wash up the site, then it was off to the Veterinary complex.

" _I will be back shortly."_

-I-

Returning to the small camp I found Artur tucked in on himself and immersed in carving at a small bit of wood. He pressed it against a notch in the muzzle as I walked around to the pots and checked that the temperature of the dye-bath had turned tepid before checking the rice.

A bit of steam leaked out and it smelled just as good to me as it had to the swarm, the scents of buttered rice and various herbs filling the air.

"It smells good."

He chuckled and ducking his head in embarrassment. "Is seam'ple. Vas no pro'blem."

Without looking up he nodded as he carefully shaved a sliver of wood from the half circle with his carving knife.

His mood turned somber though and he turned the bit of wood between his fingers for a moment before looking up. "My zank vor ah'sisdence," he said.

"You don't need to thank me again."

His eyes slowly closed and he breathed out. "Niet. Do. Do noot need to 'elp, but do. Zank you."

I crossed my arm over my chest then tucked my prosthetic under it after a moment of awkwardness and sighed. "I told you, it doesn't really bother me. If not being armed had been that big of a deal you could have said something."

He slowly nodded. "Unter'stand. Vas not issue _zen_ , boot sleep not vell last night and…" he reached out, grasping for something not there. "Keep reech vor vepon, but not ate side…" He let out a sharp breath. "On vront, in Grozny, noot 'ave vepon at side vile bunk cause… _not vize._ " A dark expression crossed his face as his eyes unfocused but he shook it off and spat to the side.

His eyes went to the spear, then back to me; his features drawn and tight. "Zo, may'bee ees moore com'vort zan vepon. Ay'nd, ah, app'ologize. No speak of," he said, his words rushed and broken and reaching for the spear he pressed a button on the knife and removed it from the mount. "Boot see, if 'ave issue is no pro'blem. Cain dee'sarm."

I looked between the knife and the disarmed spear and blinked… Of course it could be removed.

I remained silent however, chewing over the new detail as he waited.

Doing it this way he'd sacrificed practicality so he could disarm himself if the spear became an issue. He knew how fast I was with my swarm, let alone what he'd seen while out on the water…

"It's fine," I told him, this time in earnest. "I left you up here without notice so we're square. Just tell me in the future so we can avoid any misunderstandings."

Artur's eyes snapped up to meet mine and he paled slightly then quickly looked away.

There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence as I tried to think of something to say but couldn't.

"I'll go get those lobster," I said finally, wanting to escape the awkward atmosphere.

Artur just gave me a wan smile. "I vil 'ave fire reedy," and stoked the pit of coals and burning wood beneath the oven grate serving as our grill.

Picking up the dye-pot to haul it to the surf, I made note of Artur sneaking another look at my prosthetic when it was close to him.

I filed away the scrutinizing look he gave it, instead, for the moment, focusing on the mass of Blue within my swarm representing my prosthetic. The pot was a bit heavier than the rocks and bit of wood I'd hauled around for a bit and watched as the weight of the pot rapidly began to sap some of the Blue at a noticeable rate.

Absently tapping the Impression of the cove, I re-charged the prosthetic and began waddling toward the surf while monitoring the rate of energy consumption.

My attention was drawn back to Artur when he forgot discretion and turned to follow my departure, though only for a moment before suddenly dropping his carving knife and biting out a quiet and long string of what I was sure were curses.

The flies in the swarm above him smelled fresh blood and he was quick to put a hand to his mouth before reaching over to his rucksack and fumbling to open a side pouch.

Grimacing at the scene of him bandaging the cut I once more set aside the concerns spawned from it as I neared the waterline.

Setting the pot down I pulled at the remains of Blue infused seawater to divert a thick stream into the pot and displace the dye bath. The ruddy red-brown water was quickly displaced, leaving behind a slightly lighter colored poncho and the now brown colored gauze at the bottom.

For a few minutes, I let my thoughts wander while the Blue infused seawater was used as an improvised washing machine; beating the fabric in a churning torrent of currents and removing any lingering dye that hadn't been absorbed into the silk fibers.

I wrung out the poncho and lengths of gauze as best I could by pulling the Blue infused sea water out of it, but the fabric was still slightly damp and left them in the pot while waiting for the lobster to arrive.

It would have sped things up to ferry them with the last of the Blue infused water, but instead, I sent them along a longer route than necessary and took the time to think.

I thought maybe that Artur would get over what he'd seen while I was out in the forest, that he hadn't though...

Thus far he'd been _remarkably_ restrained in regards to anything relating to my power, or powers rather. But I suppose what he'd seen today had been a bit much.

Maybe it was the fact that I'd been so blatant about it that was too much to roll with, especially with my prosthetic fully out on display.

Grimacing at the reminder of my impulsiveness I looked down and extending the construct touched my fingers to the damp-yet-dry surface, tracing over the tendons and bundles of corded water wrapping the hollow 'bones' that made up the core and served as small reservoirs and compartment for the silk reel respectively.

By all appearances, it had a passing resemblance to an anatomical model, if ignoring the fact that it was semi-transparent, made of water, gave off a faint glow, and trailed a faint bit of mist.

Disconcerting was an apt way to describe it, not even I was immune to it and I'd made the damn thing.

I watched through a fly as he glanced in my direction again.

But where it was nothing more than uncomfortable to _me_ , it seemed the same couldn't be said about my temporary associate.

To him it was a serious distraction, and I _really_ didn't need that. If he was looking at my arm, or swarm, or whatever else and tripped down the mountain, then what? Or hell, even if he cut himself like that in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong thing around… boasting about being able to take care of the Tyrannosaurus was one thing, actually _doing it_ was another.

It was something I'd rather not have to deal with, if at all possible.

Covering up my prosthetic would probably help with the issue, but I couldn't leave something like that to chance.

Besides, despite the spear—which was one thing, and a misunderstanding for the most part—he had been fully cooperative with everything, even offering advice of his own volition. He'd been helpful when he didn't need to be. He hadn't needed to re-pack my salvage, he hadn't needed to help with the mold situation.

I let out a long, slow breath and checked on the lobsters' progress.

I still had some time before they got here.

I took the opportunity to breathe and think, to make sure I wanted to do this.

-I-

I came back with four dark red, spiney, bug-like crustaceans. Smaller examples of what I'd found, _only_ two feet long compared to the largest being the size of a fully grown dog of Brutus's size, but far more manageable.

No big claws the East Coast variety were known for though.

Artur pulled on a set of rubber gloves before grabbing one and set about looking it over; trying to figure out how to best process and cook the large shellfish.

Working with the orb weavers I hung my poncho and the gauze strips from the tree's branches while he pulled at the legs and tail, occasionally tapping it with his bayonet knife.

Eventually he figured out what he needed to do and without a moment's hesitation put it on a small cutting board he'd pulled from his pack, and pressed the tip of the knife into the back of its head, then gave the butt of the knife a sharp whack to punch through the shell— killing it in an instant. Quick. Clean.

Then he got to using the serrated back edge and sawed off its tail to expose the meat inside. Tossing aside the upper half he cut back along the outside of the tail and pulled the white meat halfway out of the shell before washing it off with a bit of water from his canteen and putting it on the oven grate to cook over the fire.

He looked to me and gestured to the shell as I came back around. "Simple'er zan think. Vith shell cain pro'tect meat and vil steam ate same time... May." He shrugged and watched the cooking crustacean.

I sat down across from him, watching him while his attention was directed toward the fire licking up beneath the shell and the bed of coals that had built up over the day.

"Where I come from, I'm what's known as a parahuman."

Artur's eyes snapped up to mine.

He stared for a long moment, slowly he looked back down to the white tail meat that was slowly turning a faint pink and cut in to check how much it was cooking, added more sticks and wood shavings to the fire beneath the grate— busy work. I waited for him to process what I had said and after a minute of awkwardly doing anything _other_ than addressing me, he set the knife off to the side and made eye contact.

"Vy tell me zis? I... say I do not vant know ven on roof." He spoke slowly, taking his time to enunciate properly with mostly correct grammar. I could appreciate that and took it to mean he was to be taking this seriously.

"Because you cut your hand open."

His expression soured at that and he glanced into the canopy. "Is just cut."

"Maybe, but it happened regardless. I'd rather something like that didn't happen again at the wrong moment because you were _distracted_."

His gloved hands came together; fingers automatically finding the bandaged cut hidden from view and absently brushing over it. He drew in a long, slow breath, held, then let it out. "I unter'stand." Sitting back he stared at me for a long moment before waving a hand at me. "You say are… 'pair'yuman', vat is, exact'lie?"

"It's pronounced Pahr-ah-hyu-mahn," I corrected, grimacing at his butchering of that particular word. "And yes."

"Para' _hu'_ man," he sounded out. " _Parahuman_ ," he said more confidently, enunciating it clearly.

"That's it."

He gave a small, conciliatory smile. "And 'parahuman' is..."

I took a moment to weigh just how to answer before going with the philosophical answer. I wanted him to think, not just process whatever answers I gave him. "Capes— _parahumans_ ," I corrected. "We were people unlucky enough to gain powers after having a… let's call it a _bad day_."

He gave me a skeptical look, but whatever he was going to say died in his throat as I leveled a look at him.

I continued.

"We were what you'd expect if you gave everyday people superpowers. For better and for worse." I paused, an idea coming to mind. "You were in a warzone not very long ago, I'm sure you people had the worst days of their lives on both sides of the conflict. Imagine what kind of problems a civilian could cause if they gained the power to punish their oppressors, or a burglar to shrug off gunfire like it was nothing, or a soldier act as a flying artillery piece capable of leveling city blocks. That's the reality of what a parahuman is, for good and for bad."

Somewhat of an exaggeration, but the implications slowly dawned on him. Maybe it wasn't spelling it out, _or_ putting things in the best light, but that wasn't the intent and he seemed to be getting the message.

Checking on the lobster tail, he flipped over so the top side of the meat was directly over the flames. It quietly began to sizzle.

Suddenly though, a queer expression crosses his face and he looked up from the lobster, squinting. "You say cape…" His eyes narrowed as he repeated the colloquialism but continued before I could clarify. "Like... Sooperman?"

I blinked. The name sounded _vaguely_ familiar, though not as the name of any cape name as far as I knew. "I don't know who that is."

"Pict'ure boo'k super'hairo?"

"Ah," a comic book hero. I smiled wistfully and considered a butterfly coming in to land on my finger. "That's the idea I suppose. That _was_ the idea. I could control bugs. Not exactly the most glamorous power though."

He was quick to get back onto the important details and snorted derisively. "Bug ever'vere."

I smiled a little. "Yes. You would actually be surprised just how many people forget about that. It still took me a while to learn how to properly use it so I could be competitive though. Practicing, experimenting, testing my limits."

"Boot bug not vater."

"No. It's a similar situation to back then though, and part of why I'm saying anything now." I half raised the prosthetic, palm up, and drew upon the small reservoir of excess water to form a golf ball-sized ball. It floated, suspended, before I grabbed it and reconstituted it into the prosthetic. "I'm still getting used to these new powers."

Reaching toward the branches with my prosthetic, I tapped into the Impression of the mountain and the Green smoke came into existence around the watery hand. It clashed with the mist coming off the construct, struggling against my grip, but quickly enough it slowed to a sedate pace as it writhed through the fingers and tightened around my wrist.

A flicker of Green stretched to the branch above me and a small green shoot slowly emerged from a gap in the scraggly bark.

"I'm still figuring them out," I said, absently guiding the Green in growing out the shoot before looking back to him as he looked up at the shoot. "So you're going to see some things over the next few days. If you have questions, just ask, ok?"

His eyes were widened when he tore his gaze from the new growth. He blinked rapidly and opened his mouth, maybe to ask a question, but was distracted by the smell of smoke.

Artur was quick to get the tail off the fire and onto a cool part of the grill. He poked at a small charred bit before shaving it of and tossing it into the fire before grabbing his cutting board and setting to work on the tail.

"Of course, I don't know if I'll be able to actually answer them," I told him, "It's all new to me. But still, if you have questions, ask them."

He served up the lobster tail in chunks, on a small bed of buttered rice, in a shallow metal camping bowl.

"Vat vas 'ome like? Ver do come vrom?"

Well wasn't that a loaded question. Sitting back I idly picked at the rice and lobster.

However, I _had_ given him an incomplete idea of the situation. He probably thought I was from some apocalyptic anarchy which… admittedly that wasn't as far off as I'd like, but not entirely. Maybe I should give context first. "The government is supposed to have the monopoly on force, correct? Governments make law, have the police and army to enforce them with weapons of mass destruction as the ultimate equalizer between nations?"

Artur nodded hesitantly, his meal was forgotten.

"On Earth Bet we had individuals powerful enough to ignore the law and carve out their own territories within nations." Sleeper, Nilbog. "Others could render nuclear weapons obsolete." Scion, Eidolon. "Tanks would be nothing but scrap against more capes than I could count." Alexandria, Lung. "There were forces that did nothing but destroy." The Endbringers, Jack. "Parahumans had to police our own to maintain the status quo and deal with threats, we had our rules and it helped keep things stable for the most part—" I stopped myself and took in Artur's disconcerted expression. No, Earth Bet _really_ wasn't something I intended on going into detail on, but home...

I sighed. "Earth Bet had its problems," I told him, " there were people who tried to do good, to help, but reality wasn't always as black and white as the superhero comparison you made. And home… that's difficult."

Home, the house I'd grown up, even if it hadn't been 'home' for a long time, was flat out gone, destroyed. I searched, trying to think of what home was. Then I thought of my friends, those I'd been close to: Lisa, Rachel, Dragon and Defiant, even Dad and I had reconnected during my time in the Wards. That clicked into place. "I had my friends, my teammates, family. They were what made somewhere home."

I smiled wistfully at that and bit down a spoonful of the rice and lobster.

The meat was a bit bland, but the seasonings and packets of butter mixed in with the rice offset that with the the lobster there to gave it substance.

It might not have been the lobster dinner I'd daydreamed of while sustaining myself on little more than berries and water, but it was just as good as my imagination told me it was.

"Earth... Bet?"

I blinked and stopped chewing. Oh. I had said that, hadn't I.

I swallowed and met his incredulous gaze. "Well, that, how should I put it..."

—

A/N: And hey! With this I've broken the 100k mark for this story! Personally, this isn't the best news considering my pacing, but as its also the halfway point... I'm kinda happy. Anyhow! Depending on how much the outline is altered, it looks like it should be another 100k by the end of this year when C'est is complete, I cant wait.


	23. Chapter 23

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #05.4

A/N: BANZAI! Well, this one certainly changed as well and took a bit longer than when I last posted.

—

I opened my eyes only moments after laying down. It felt that way at least.

 _"Bee, Beep."_

It was dark though, the sun had gone down. Had been down for a while, from the looks of things outside.

 _"Bee, Beep."_

Blinking against dry, gummed up eyes I squinted up at the blurry ceiling; idly, I followed the lines I knew were the metal ceiling joists.

 _"Bee, Beep."_

And my watch was beeping, which… which meant it was time for my shift.

Six hours, gone, like it was nothing.

 _"Bee, Beep."_

In the hall outside something shifted, brushing away a mosquito. I flinched away as a bright light suddenly flashed over my face.

A sharp rapping drew me back though, and squinting toward the door I saw the half lit blurry figure through the windows running the length of the short hall outside. Artur.

Seeing him made his question from the night before come back to me: _"Why are you here?"_

 _"Bee, Beep."_

Raising my hand to acknowledge him, I fell back against the floor as he turned back to the balcony he'd been keeping watch from while I'd slept.

I slowly pulled myself together as he gathered his things.

 _"Bee, Beep."_

It would be easier to just tell him my bugs would maintain the perimeter while I slept, but…

 _"Bee, Beep."_

It was better to keep things like that in my sleeve.

Turning off the alarm I threw off the bedroll, sat up, and ground the crusty rheum out of my eyes with a few swipes of my thumb and forefinger.

Artur returned as I was packing up my bedroll and knocked on the window beside the door. Buckling my bedroll I shuffled over to let him in.

"Sleep vel?"

I grunted and shuffling back to my pack I grabbed my utility belt and thigh holster.

Sitting against a desk I fumbled the buckles with clumsy fingers as Artur dropped his rucksack then sank into one of the many office-turned-storage room's swivel chairs. It creaked, loudly, like someone was stepping on a toad.

"So. You spot anything skulking about out there," I asked blearily, tiredly glancing up from tightening the holster's straps.

Artur just twitched his shoulders in a shrug, a small smile pulling at his lips as he leaned back in the chair. "Some sort of creetter is in yard, boot nozing to report." The smile turned into something almost wistful, "Vas good vatch," he mused. "No commander to shout, no artillory, animal no shoot eef see first. Veery relaxing."

I hummed and nodded, not sure what else to say about his sobering comment. It was telling though, that despite how things had gone he considered this place to be relaxing compared to a warzone.

"I—" I covered my mouth to stifle a yawn and stood, hefting my pack by its carry handle. "I see. I'll see you in six hours then."

Giving me a lazy, two-fingered salute he slouched back in the chair and muttered something about snow. I turned to the door and he was there, standing in it as he had the night before; half turned and half out the door, he was staring at me with a quizzical look.

" _Why are you here?"_

I stepped through the memory and shut the door behind me. Artur's question still echoed in my ears though, just as it had since he'd asked it.

For a moment I caught my disheveled reflection in the windows opposite me and I turned away, heading for the small balcony at the end of the short hall that Artur had been keeping watch on.

I didn't need a mirror to know I looked like crap.

Absently, stepping out onto the balcony, I ran a hand back through the hair that had come free of the loose braid I'd made before bed.

I dropped my pack beside the chair Artur and leaned against the railing to look down on a hundred-foot square patch of jungle. An island of near solid green in the middle of the gravel that surrounded the veterinary complex and kept it separated from the surrounding jungle.

A fourteen-foot wall topped with once electrified wires surrounded the patch, keeping it from spreading and from being disturbed. No doubt it had once been a yard space or temporary enclose for whatever animals were being kept and cared for here, going by the multiple sliding gates that let in and out of the buildings where animal pens were.

Though, I imagined it had been a bit less dense then. Whatever it had looked like years ago, it had since become a flourishing microcosm of the jungle, complete with pond and overflow stream that ran out a drainage grate set into the wall.

It would probably be a good place to leave my orb weavers whenever I went out, they'd stay localized with all the food in there.

But… Looking down on the growth resurrected a memory of a city struggling to get back on its feet, and that led into a memory of a shattered battlefield. Only tangentially connected, but connected by the same thread: The Apocalypse. So many threads ultimately led to it.

Plans could be made later. Recalling the orb weavers I'd sent down before going to bed I sat down, got comfortable, and reached into my pack to dig out my small journal and a battery powered lantern.

Pushing aside some vines to clear a space on the railing, I set down the lantern, put it to dim, and began flipping through pages covered in chicken scratch until I found the blank pages near the end— the increasingly few blank pages that remained, actually.

I slowly spun my pencil between my prosthetic's gauze wrapped digits. It was a surprisingly complex motion that let me practice my dexterity as it had with my offhand. Fortunately, letters wouldn't be quite as difficult.

But actually writing though...

I glanced back through the windows looking into the converted office space to see Artur propping up his spear against a desk and rolling out his bedroll.

 _"Why are you here?"_

The pen faltered, began to fall, but catching it with a small tendril and returned it to the wrapped digits.

My being unable to sleep hadn't been his fault, I should have expected him to ask it after the Birdcage had arisen in conversation. The issue was how to answer it. Not that I wanted to, or was going to, but putting it into words…

I knew why I'd been exiled here, or at least I thought I did. I'd been a monster at the end, far too dangerous to be allowed to go free. And, even if I'd somehow recovered, if I'd managed to reclaim my mind, I would never be safe in reach of anyone who'd survived the conflict.

Whether being exiled was a mercy or a punishment, I didn't know. But the fact that I'd been sent _here_ , rather than Aleph, Bet, Gimel, or _any_ of the other worlds that Bet had been evacuated to during Scion's rampage hadn't escaped Artur and he had broached the question.

It had made me question how to even describe what had happened, to describe the scale of the conflict in a way someone could understand. There were the how's, the why's, the who's and the when's...

I put the pen to the first line and wrote.

So many details to parse... But I could try, that was all I could do.

Each letter of each word was written mechanically, the pen as held in the prosthetic moving in precise lines, arcs, and circles as if tracing over an elementary schooler's homework.

Slowly but surely the page began to fill.

Page after page I wrote, the speed of my writing growing with each line. I only stopped when I reached the end of the notebook and set the pen down in the seam.

What had been written could be put into two categories: Factual and personal. The bulk of what had been written was the former, a timeline of event, details, turning points and so on. Towards the latter pages, it had become increasingly focused on the personal though. My mistakes, faults, and those important people who had kept me anchored but were gone to me now.

It was a start. There was more to say, I needed more paper. Making a new journal would probably be best if only to keep things organized.

I thought back to everything I'd found during my survey of the building and drew on my swarm to search through the facility. This time I kept my focus limited to intact writing materials, selecting for supplies that hadn't been damaged by pests or time eventually narrowed it to two locations. From there, only one was favorable for lack of distractions.

Stowing my journal I started to stand to head back inside, though, a sigh from Artur back in the makeshift bunkroom reminded me that I wasn't alone here.

My lips quirked and I sat down again. After everything that had happened today, the office could wait a few more minutes.

Once I was sure Artur had fallen asleep, I stood and slipped inside; my darkened lantern in hand and my pack slung over one shoulder.

Walking alongside the windows opposite the converted office space, my eyes were drawn past the balcony encircling the large room beyond and down to the large holding pen it overlooked.

Big enough to have fit a half a dozen elephants comfortably, the space was _big_ ; it took up a full _half_ of the central building that made up the center line of the T & E shaped structure.

However, a holding pen was what it had been when this place had been operational. Sometime since then, metal barriers set into the concrete floor had been cut away and it had been turned into a sort of makeshift command center.

Artur had speculated this may have been the basecamp for the people who came in after whatever had happened here to shut down the park.

Judging by the presence of the big server tower and the terminals surrounding it, a complex radio setup on an out of the way table, the bulletin boards covered with notes, pictures, and pin-covered maps not dissimilar to Artur's, he was probably right. That meant this place had the most up to date information on the island outside of whatever intel he'd had access to.

And the files _were_ intact—for the most part. Damage done by pests excluded, just about everything in the building was in fairly good shape. No doubt consequence of the jungle still being at a distance, but also something to attribute to the building itself. It was built like a hospital, with all the sanitation measures associated with such: Thickly painted walls and sealed surfaces, epoxy coated floors, good and mostly intact seals against weather ingress and more.

Barring some superficial fading caused by the windows that ran most of the second floor of the building's warehouse-like central structure, everything looked to be just as it had been when the people left. Eerie though.

Later though, once I was done.

A small smile pulled at my lips at the thought of learning more about this place; the history of it. The little tidbits I'd found in the utility bunker on my first day, at the radio bunker, and at the visitors center— thus far I only had pieces of the story, I might be able to get the full picture down there. It might even be a nice reprieve, one I was done.

Continuing to the end of the short hall, I slowly pulled open the door to the stairwell leading downstairs so as to not wake Artur and eased it shut behind me.

Reaching the main floor, I took a moment to disarm the tripwire trap Artur and I had set and stepped out into the dark hall.

Crossing the hall, I pushed through a pair of creaky double doors and into what I figured to have been the main office and worked my way through the space. Passing by desks with work left unfinished, monitors with dusty CRT monitors, shelves full of binders, and filing cabinets that stood empty, I stopped at an island in the center of the room.

Standing in front of an old, yellowed laser jet printer set atop a side table, I knelt and after a bit of finagling was rewarded with an almost full ream of blank paper.

There were plenty of desks in the room and picking the cleanest— a 'Doctor Harding's' —I brushed away the dust and sat down. Pen held with my prosthetic, I opened my journal and began where I left off.

Cont _._

 _—You were right of course. I never did learn to ask for help, not really. I suppose it would have meant admitting to needing help, a weakness, or allowing the possibility that they would refuse, and everything would fall apart..._

-I-

I'd just set down a box of files when I felt the increasingly familiar sinus tickling and pushed away my half-assed dust mask. I just managed to keep down the sneeze.

Rubbing my nose I looked up to the hanger-like doors that let out into the yard and grimaced. Even if I could manage to force open the doors with my water manipulation to let some air in, it just wouldn't be worth it. For now, I just settled for opening up some normal doors to the outside to get some air circulating.

Removing the box's lid I raised the lantern and began flicking through files, pulling out groups according to their reference codes and titles. The stack I ended up with was larger than was precisely necessary, but I had time, and the utility of the information was only half of the point. Sleuthing through everything left behind after getting through with salvaging what I could, it was a nice bit of mundanity, learning more about the islands history and its wildlife; native and introduced.

It was a different kind of relaxation beyond what I had experienced on the island so far.

There were ups and downs to what I had found though.

The herbivores didn't seem like they would be much of an issue, it was just a matter of keeping your distance and 'gauging the herd's mood' as one of the veterinarians had put it, whatever that meant. The short of it seemed to be that it was best to keep your distance if they were agitated.

But then there were the carnivores.

It was… _illuminating_ , reading. The information in the files not only gave me insights into how the animals behaved but also made me wonder how the people building this place had thought it would be a good idea to stock it as they had. Had they been insane, or maybe just _stupid_?

Artur had said this place was meant to be like a _safari park_ , which meant people driving around in cars to see the animals. The problem was, besides the herbivores averaging out at several tons on the _low end_ , a full third of the animals on the island were _predators_.

Ironically enough though, as much as I'd been interested in information on the animals, I'd gotten _too much_. I was forced to sift through the files to find the useful tidbits and decipher scientific jargon.

Fortunately, some of the notes pinned to the bulletin boards had contained reference numbers to certain files. It only helped so much though. Some files, or entire boxes, were missing, but there were enough to start building profiles on the wildlife quickly enough.

Also, to get an idea of what had been going on here after the park had been shut down.

From what I had been able to surmise, a rather sizable team of scientists, engineers, and security personnel had come in and settled here to take an accounting of the island. An _extensive_ accounting. They had also ventured out and shut down the island's facilities, demolishing them in some cases, cut down sections of fencing to let the animals move freely, opened gates, locked doors, and so on.

In total there had been at least thirty six people here going by the number of bunks that had been setup in the medium sized holding pens. Whatever the number was though, it had been a sizable contingent and the supplies they had brought with them— and _left behind_ —reflected that.

Chief among what had been left behind was a pallet of foodstuffs. Most hadn't lasted in the intervening years, but there were a few cases of canned foods, some other sealed containers, and a pair of five-gallon buckets full of white rice that had survived just fine. Among other things though, I had _also_ uncovered a few ounces of demolitions explosive was buried under a pile of knocked over schematics and several handguns stuffed into duffel bags of clothes and personal effects. As I'd expected, whatever had happened they had left in a hurry.

Why though wasn't clear and nothing I'd seen indicated a reason when by all accounts they had been safe and secure behind the electrified fencing that they'd been running on a local backup generator set up in an outbuilding.

Regardless, while they had pulled the drives from the server rack and taken a number of filing boxes regarding the dinosaurs' anatomy, what they had left behind was more than enough for me to work with.

Observed behaviors between different species interacting, territory range projections, surviving species, and expected die-offs, and more. It seemed they had never really let the animals intermingle or cohabitate to any extent for fear of them fighting.

Making a few more notations on some paper, I set aside a file on the _Dilophosaurus_ and reached for the next in the stack. An interesting dinosaur, that one. Apparently, it could spit venom upwards of twenty feet which was… nice. The animals described and photographed in the folder were also the same as those I'd driven off before finding the radio bunker. Something _else_ I'd have to keep an eye out for.

Again I had to wonder what the people running this place had been thinking.

Flipping open the next folder I found myself looking down at a picture of a familiar yellow eye peeking out through palm fronds. _Velociraptor._ Obligate carnivore, pack hunter, sequential hermaphrodites (meaning they could breed if there was no male), and the ultimate death knell for the liability nightmare that was "Jurassic Park".

How the people running this place had thought it a good idea to create these things was beyond me.

Able to run at sixty mph in an open field? Sure, might be entertaining to watch them hunt from afar. Able to communicate and coordinate movements to distract their prey? That's a bit more suspect but ok. But then Artur had revealed the tidbit about them being able to open doors which had led to letting him set the tripwire to settle his nerves.

But doors were only a fraction of the complaints about them it seemed. Increasingly concerned memos described everything from the animals systematically attacking the electrified fences of their enclosures, or attempting to escape them by digging or trying to _trick_ their handlers into opening the gates in escape attempts. I hadn't been surprised to find an official proposal from the park game warden to terminate the species.

Altogether, it didn't paint a pretty picture.

Smart and deadly were not the type of traits that made for a zoo animal. And 'smart' was probably understating things considering that the pack I'd initially encountered had figured out my range. Admittedly, I hadn't exactly been subtle with my attempts to keep them at arm's length, but that kind of contextual pattern recognition wasn't anything to scoff at.

And then there were the replacements they'd had planned, the _Herrerasaurus_. Those things were no better. Pack hunters as well, and while not as intelligent they were tenacious to the point of tracking something for _miles_. They just wore their prey down until it was too tired to escape.

Shaking my head I opened the file and began reading, taking down the occasional note and referencing the other files concerning them.

A comment on the board had said both species had been dealt with but, well, I'd seen how accurate that information was.

Sometime later, when I was halfway through my third sheet, a silk line that stretched out beyond my current range was pulled, then broke. Having been positioned four feet above the ground it couldn't have been anything 'small' that had tripped it. And it hadn't been sudden enough to be a bat.

I kept an eye on the area, and a few minutes later a lumpy, misshapen form waddled through some ground level foliage. Some of my swarm converged to get a look at it and as some crawlers got close a hot, tiny, _hand_ grabbed a small beetle and there was a momentary sensation of wetness, then it vanished.

I looked up from the file and frowned.

Artur had said there were 'critters' out and about, and the files had referenced projected population depletion rates concerning the native wildlife, but nothing I had found mentioned any kind of primate on the island.

More of the swarm gathered on and near it. Some were lost in the process as it gobbled them up, but enough landed on it to give me a familiar visual. Its temperature, the thumbed feet, the long bald tail; an opossum, and, judging by the shifting lumps on its back, its _many_ babies.

Funny how something like that could survive here, or get here— though, that may have come about due to this place being built.

The mama waddled along, sniffling at plants and sticking its head into the leaves; foraging in search of food.

It probably wouldn't have been what tripped the high tripwire though, especially with the babies on its back. Keeping watch on things in the direction, I fed it a few disposable beetles and grubs then left it be until something in the air drew me back a few minutes later.

The decomposers, those more sensitive to such smells picked it up first: the smell of something beginning to rot. It was faint, but growing stronger. Then a line of silk snapped, and then another. More of my swarm caught the scent as the wind shifted.

The source of the scent slowly entered my range, roughly following the same path the opossum had taken. Shuffling, feet dragging, it moved oddly and there was a faint rasping.

My swarm converged to give me an idea of what I was dealing with, but before I had half of it I recognized the shape.

Grimacing, I flipped back through the Velociraptors file and underscored the notation about their durability.

Damn, but these things were tenacious.

Though… My pen paused as the details grew. The bugs were being ignored entirely, as if it wasn't even aware of them or simply didn't register where the others had fled their massed presence. My swarm landed on damp hide and smelling the rot, feeling the swollen, oozing flesh… hardy or no, I had no idea how it was even _moving_.

—

A/N: To those that wanted more mana interaction in the story, well here you go.

Edit: Oh, and because someone on asked about it, I set up a . I mean, not much I can say about it, its there if you want to support my caffeine addiction, don't have many plans for it at the moment tho.

pat reon #18283954


	24. Chapter 24

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #05.5

A/N: Is done. Yay. Also it ended up getting split again but 5.6 is mostly done as well so not too bad on that front.

—

My lips pulled into a frown as I watched the wounded dinosaur as it tried, and repeatedly failed, to stalk and catch the opossum while rancid fluid leaked from its upper leg.

I'd seen and read about these velociraptors running at highway speeds, seen them pouncing on prey from tens of feet away. This one, though?

Hobbled, with its leg wounded in the leg as it was, the raptor just couldn't move fast enough to catch the marsupial when it fled away in a hurried waddle.

The pitiful scene repeated itself several times, but eventually, the raptor, exhausted and breathing heavily, collapsed into a small hollow at the base of a tall tree, its back to the pale bark as it practically steamed in the night.

Resting there for a bit, it eventually curled in on itself to lick at its leg; cleaning its injury.

The image brought back some old memories of Rachel and her dogs, back in Brockton Bay. I sat back, watching it through my bugs' grainy vision, allowing myself to reminisce.

But, while I watched the raptor, the green, chicken-sized dinosaurs began arriving.

In small packs they gathered around the raptor, either local or coming from outside my range and following the trail it had made through the underbrush while following the opossum. Over twenty minutes dozens of them assembled in the foliage and out in the open, jumping in place and chittering at the larger dinosaur, growing braver as more and more arrived.

 _Procompsognathus_ , 'Compy's', they had been called in the files.

Their growing numbers drew me from my reminiscing and I sat up, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Scavengers, the files had described them as, and meant to keep the island clean of the literal tons of crap left by the larger animals and any remains of animals that had died.

Their presence might have told me the raptor was close to death, if not for the fact that they were also opportunistic predators that had a venomous bite, a serotonin laced saliva that would let them eat the raptor alive while it was too stoned to react.

Eventually they would move on the raptor. Maybe just a few at a time at first, small groups that would jump in while keeping out of range and jumping away when the raptor tiredly snapped at those that got too close.

It wasn't difficult to see what they were doing. A simple strategy; it was already tired, and now they were wearing it down until it could no longer fight back. And when that time came…

The mental image came to me unprompted: the little ones jumping in, landing bites until it could no longer fight back and they fell upon it like a tide of green, consuming it while it was still alive, still conscious but unable to do anything. Unable to move while it was pulled apart piece by piece.

And velociraptors were hardy; how long would it endure that before it died?

Massing disparate swarms of fliers I drove them into the scavengers, scattering the little dinosaurs and driving them back to the very edge of my range. The raptor's increasing struggles to rise despite the scavengers being driven off drew my attention.

My attention shifted to focus on it, its previous fate set aside as a suspicion formed. I watched as it kicked up leaves and dirt, digging a trough in the soil in a weak attempt to rise, head looking in the direction the bulk of swarm had gone. In watching it, another detail stood out: its _size_. Compared to all but one of the raptors I had seen, it was small.

In cleaning up the aftermath of the attack on Artur's team, I'd been unable to account for one that had been shot at by Artur's commander. Maybe five feet tall and twelve feet in length, it certainly fit what I had seen of the survivor.

I had _thought_ it would have bled out after fleeing, but... apparently not. Knowing what I now knew about the species, about their fortitude, and considering this one's injury, this was probably that individual.

Testing my hypothesis, I drew together a swarm and it sat up, watched the swarm with its lips curled back, then dispersing my bugs it eventually settled down again; though, even after several minutes it didn't relax as it had before and instead constantly glanced about its surroundings.

It was confirmation enough that it was the last of the pack that had been following me and attacked Artur's group.

And it was alone.

Beyond the connotations that held for a _pack animal_ , it also meant it had no one to help it recover or bring it food. Eventually the little ones would be back or get to it when it moved on and tried resting against some other tree. Unable to move at speed to catch food or feed itself, it would eventually succumb to a worsening infection, starvation, or predation. And not necessarily in that order.

It wouldn't be a pleasant end, not something I would wish on it; even with what it and its pack had done.

I grimaced.

It would be better off if I put it out of its misery. Distasteful, but better than being eaten alive.

A wandering spider could do it, or an uncontrolled application of the Green. Even a well-placed bullet would work, though it would be wasteful and dangerous besides. Thinking on the options available to me, though, I struck on an alternative.

The raptor had been shot, and a gunshot wound was a glorified puncture wound. That it was still alive days after the fact was a strong indicator that being shot hadn't done _too_ much damage. However, that was only one part of the problem, and possibly the least important part. A puncture wound being what it was, there were most likely debris in the wound. Dead skin, plant matter, dirt, whatever. It could lick as long as it wanted but it couldn't get out whatever was in there.

But I could, using some Blue-infused water. I could clean it out and let its immune system handle the rest.

If there were no adverse reactions that is.

I couldn't overlook the boon the Blue-infused water could provide, but it needed to be tested. After breaking the beetle as I had… I bit my lower lip. That would have been the kind of thing that would have seen my use of the Blue be limited to non-organic contact, and for a legitimate reason beyond it 'looking bad'.

Could the blue be absorbed through osmosis, or through bodily contact? My prosthetic was an indication that it _didn't_ , but that was only skin contact, what about an open wound?

Depending on the answer, it opened up options. A beneficial use to the power beyond offensive or defensive applications.

Healing instead of harm.

 _But_ , until I knew more I couldn't say for certain. The Green was capable of growing things beyond their natural limit, but save for some sort of mental interaction, I couldn't even begin to guess what the Blue could do provided sufficient saturation.

Sitting back I removed my glasses, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. The lack of sleep had to be getting to me. I could just _hear_ Brian telling me what a bad idea this was, and the logic _was_ flimsy, but…

I ran a hand back through my hair and, pushing my chair back from the table, I stood. Leaving the command center, I stepped into the dark hall, turning left and heading towards the storeroom at the end I ran through a mental inventory of what had been in stock.

-I-

I took my time heading out to where the velociraptor was resting. Walking through the oversized and overgrown airlock style gate, I turned off the road and entered the lightless jungle with the faintly glowing sphere of water trailing behind me. Constantly monitoring the raptor, I slowed my pace to a near crawl on the approach. It still heard me.

Sitting up a bit and looking in the direction I was approaching from, golden eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness locking onto me the moment I stepped out into the open. Hissing, it struggled to rise before its injured leg gave out and falling in an ungainly sprawl it let out a warbling cry, but despite whatever pain it was in it tried to get up anyway.

Whether it was an attempt at an attack or a threat display, I didn't need it making its condition any worse than it already was. Tagging it with my bugs, I pulled at the medicine ball-sized sphere of roiling currents suspended behind me and streams of Blue-infused water whipped past to ensnare the dinosaur. Faintly glowing cords trapped foreclaws against its chest, bound its legs to secure its hooked toe claw, and muzzled it just as it got out a raspy, warbling call.

Snorting, head shaking, its muscles bulged as it strained against the bindings. I was forced to hold it to the ground to keep it from breaking free and reinforced the bindings further.

A slit pupil contracted into a thin line as I walked closer and, snorting into the ground, its struggles grew.

It was afraid, in pain, and experiencing something it never had before. The situation was familiar; I thought back to Rachel and her shelter, before Leviathan's attack on Brockton bay. Taking another slow step forward I knelt, maintaining eye contact with the snarling dinosaur while surreptitiously running an umbilical from my prosthetic to the bindings to keep the bindings charged.

Maybe it would stop resisting, but if calming it down didn't work, I'd just tire it out.

Getting comfortable I examined the dinosaur as best I could in the dark, the glow from the Blue-infused water helping only slightly. Much like the others of the pack, prior to dealing with their remains, its pebbled hide was littered with old and new scars that crisscrossed the tiger-stripe-like patterns on its sides and back. However, my attention was drawn to the top of its haunch and the faintly oozing wound there.

Landing a few flies and other fliers in the vicinity, I got a 'taste' of what was going on. Covered in foamy saliva from its licking, the surrounding tissue was swollen and warmer than the rest of it.

Inflamed, and definitely infected, but not _septic_. Not yet.

The gunshot wound being what it was, it wouldn't matter how long it licked it if there was foreign matter in the wound and, given that it lacked an exit wound, there almost certainly was. Maybe the wound would heal around the bullet, eventually, if it survived, but the chances would be better if I got it out and flushed out whatever may have gotten into the wound.

Sealing it would be an issue, but I doubted it was going to just leave stitches be. It would have to depend on whatever antibacterial properties its saliva had.

It took several minutes for the dinosaur to exhaust itself enough that it stopped resisting, though it didn't take its eye off me. Beaten, but not defeated.

Commendable, but really not what I needed right now.

Further drawing from the Impression of Visitor Center's lab, the marble in the back of my mind dimmed as mist seeped through the red-brown gauze wrapping my prosthetic. Pulling on the bindings in my swarm sense, the dinosaur began to rise on a thin bed of water spread out beneath it. Its struggles renewed as the ground fell away, though its movements were weaker than before.

It was a balancing act, keeping it as immobilized as possible while moving the water in conjunction with its movements so as to not strain it.

Still, troublesome as it was, I didn't rush getting back to the enclosure; if I took my time, it would continue tiring itself out, hopefully leaving it more placable when I got to work.

Though, carrying two hundred-odd pounds of theropod wasn't easy; doing so sipped away at my still regenerating reserves. By the time I entered the enclosure, the Impression of the lab in the back of my mind had darkened and I had been left to tap into the Impression of the cove.

I set the raptor down on a tarp staked to the ground, which itself had been liberally cleared of vegetation, and repositioned the whiptail overhead, tilting the lantern it carried to better illuminate the work area I'd set up. Sitting down beside a water cooler jug taken from the office, I crossed my legs and touched the glass to check the temperature: lukewarm. Cool enough.

Drawing on the Impression of the cove I saturated the jug until it glowed and got to work.

 _The first thing is getting that bullet out and seeing what the damage is._

There was only a limited supply of sanitary water. I had to be efficient with what I had and make it count.

A small sliver of glowing water, a sliver of luminescence, rose through the mouth of the jug and, as I maintained eye contact with the raptor, was sent into the puckered wound.

For a few moments, there was little reaction on the raptor's part, then the probe began encountering obstructions.

Solidified pus, dead tissue— whatever it was, I was forced to break through whatever got in my way and the raptor clearly felt the probe going deeper and deeper. It kicked and squirmed against the tarp, hissing through the muzzle. I had been ready though, and locking the bindings' movement I kept it as immobilized as possible so as to not inadvertently tear its leg apart with the probe.

I was well aware of how much damage a spatially immobilized object could do to a moving target.

I was forced to wait and eventually the velociraptor ceased struggling, resorting to glaring at me with a half-lidded eye that fluttered shut every so often. It's breathing, even more than before, was labored and rasping.

It gave me the impression that it was finally succumbing to exhaustion. _That_ , or it was faking it, and was biding its time. It wouldn't even be unprecedented with some of the things they had done to escape captivity. Trying to trick their handlers was at the bottom of that list.

Gradually working the probe deeper and deeper into the wound, I found a resistant mass three and a half inches in. The bullet; A slug, fortunately for the raptor.

The sphere of water at my back shrank a bit further, discreetly reinforcing the bindings to give them a larger surface area. Then I drew more water from the jug and as I sent it into the wound, the raptor bucked. Again I kept it as still as I could while I worked, going so far as to spread the water out to the point the raptor was practically covered in it while I worked the deformed mass out of the wound over the course of a minute.

It was slow work, I re-opened the wound fairly thoroughly, but eventually, it came out followed by a thick stream of foul orange pus speckled with crap that had broken free in the cavity.

I didn't slow down or wait for it to recuperate. Drawing on the water in the jug, a narrow stream of water flowed from the bottle's mouth, through the air, and into the wound, going deep before spreading out into the surrounding flesh and soaking up every bit of pus and foreign matter. All the while the raptor stared back at me, though, occasionally, its tired eyes locked on the flowing water; it watched as the water went in clean and came out contaminated, its nose flaring when it did.

I slowly repeated the process over and over again, cycling out fetid, yellow, green, and red choked streams of water while monitoring the Blue as best as I could for any sign it was being absorbed into the tissues. With energy lost simply by moving the Blue-infused water, it was difficult to say, but it seemed that some _was_ being absorbed when it stayed in one spot for too long; though only a minuscule fraction of a percent. An amount that I wanted to say seemed negligible, I couldn't feel anything happening with it, but couldn't say for certain. Still, it seemed safe, like the usual traces of lead in drinking water. Maybe not healthy, but probably not harmful.

At some point, while I was cleaning the wound something seemed to 'click' for the predator, and for the most part, it stopped resisting with an air of weary resignation. The raptor only resisted again in earnest when I had to press on the surrounding tissue in search of any hidden abscesses that might ruin my work.

I kept at it until the wound wept clear and the remaining water channeled through the wound remained clean.

As the jug finally ran dry I sat back and sighed.

All said and done, the entire procedure took around twenty minutes.

I could barely imagine the nightmare it would have been for any veterinarians trying to do this.

Grabbing the now empty jug by its neck and the bucket by its handle, I disconnected the umbilical to my prosthetic, stood, and backed away from the raptor.

It and I maintained eye contact until the foliage broke line of sight then I turned on my heel, leaving the enclosure through the tall side-sliding gate I'd opened up to gain access to the yard space.

As I stepped through the last of the Blue infused water I had on hand shot out from the small of my back and, spreading it out along the door, I began pushing it shut. Rolling on its track, the heavy steel door rattled slightly and its rusty wheels squealed until it shut with the muted sound of metal hitting metal.

Only then did I release the velociraptor and draw the water back to me.

For a few moments it laid there, seemingly asleep or too tired to move. But then, shifting in place it and discovering it wasn't bound, it was quick to get up— albeit slowly. Standing on the tarp, the old plasticized fabric crinkled underfoot as it shifted, turned to sniff at its wound, then hobbling off the tarp the raptor entered the foliage. Sniffing at the air and plants, it kicking at the soil while moving through the enclosure and quickly enough it reached the vine-shrouded wall, easing itself down with its back to it after hobbling along its length for a few yards.

Once the raptor settled I withdrew the whiptail and sent it out to gather some vermin I had located and begun tracking while setting up. It wasn't a whole cow, but a couple dozen rats would probably do the raptor some good.

Settled in it stuck its snout to the now cleaned wound, sniffed few times, then began to slowly lick at it… like a dog, really. A big, murderous, hyper-intelligent dog.

Turning up a ramp I crossed the loading dock and re-entered the command center.

What it did now was up to it. Maybe with some positive association, it would learn not to be so aggressive towards humans, but if it didn't, well…

Maybe it was all wishful thinking.

—

A/N: It's a shame, she may be thinking to reinvent herself and expand her repertoire beyond conflict based applications, but as the old adage goes: "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

Pat-reon to feed me caffeine.


	25. Chapter 25

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #05.6

A/N: Not much to say. Things are busy on my end so same ole same ole.

—

Standing beside a tire that reached up to my hip, I flicked through a number of keys on a string, searching for one with a Mercedes logo. With an old pillowcase being used as a sack under one arm and gravel poking against the bottom of my costumes soft soles, I was growing a bit irritated at not finding the right key when all the others had been labeled in one way or another.

I looked up and stared the eye level lock set into the utility truck's passenger side door.

It was a big thing, sitting on six wheels with a long flatbed truck. When first seeing it the truck had reminded me of the heavy transports that Coil had used to transport material and personnel through Brockton Bay in the weeks following Leviathan's attack.

Pressing the palm of my prosthetic to the lock, I forced water into the mechanism. Working at the tumblers until it turned, I pulled open the door was hit by the same old-car smell the rest of the vehicles left parked around the veterinary complex had had, a certain mustiness and the faint scent of cigarettes.

I ignored it and hauled myself up, into the cab, and onto the passengers' side seat, dropping my pillowcase full of cassette tapes and other collected clutter onto the driver's seat.

Glancing around my eyes settled on the usual places: center divider, glove box, sun visor, and so on.

In what had become a standard inspection of the vehicles, I flipped down the visors to see if the past drivers had stowed anything there, but nothing. The center console, however, revealed a neat row of cassette tapes; they went into the pillowcase, along with a pair of cheap red sunglasses, a five by eight yellow notepad, and a glasses repair kit.

The glovebox only gave me a pile of car manuals, though there were a couple more cassette tapes that I took before snapping the compartment shut.

Checking the cassette slot in the center console I found a tape. Going in with a bit of water from my prosthetic I disengaged it from the reader mechanism and pulled it out as it was ejected.

Flipping the tape between my fingers, I examined the title to see it a was an album of assorted classical artists.

I dropped it into the sack with the rest of them and hopped out from the truck to the loading dock, slamming the door shut behind me.

From within the building, Artur glanced up from cinching up his pack. Tightening it one last time, he worked his way through the converted office space we had bunked in to a back room and peered out the windows overlooking the loading dock.

For a second I stopped to look up and wave before moving to a blue tarp I'd laid out over the stained and darkened concrete and had stacked a neat pile of supplies on.

Setting the sack down I walked inside, stepping through floor to ceiling rolling door that opened up to another which led to the surgical theater and from there to a hall and then the large holding pen.

I stooped to pick up a canteen and unscrewing the lid a few balls of ice I'd made rattled inside. I considered the inner roll-up gate as I sipped the cold water.

You could walk from one end of the building to the other if you opened up all the enormous doors. It was an interesting way of treating animals they had to bring here, and simple, considering the weight of the animals in question. Back in at one loading dock, pick up the dinosaur on a pair of gantry cranes (the kind normally used for car engines), roll it to the surgery, then from there the large holding pen, back out, or to one of the smaller holding pens held in the wing that made up the left side of the T part of the building which let out into the yard.

Its form followed its function.

Though, fortunately for me, it wasn't entirely adequate considering some of the larger animals on the island.

Returning the canteen to its place in the shade I turned and sat on the tarp, picking up and upending the pillowcase. A mess of car-clutter gathered from the dozen-odd vehicles parked around the building spilled out onto the blue tarp: a mess of cassette tapes, loose cases, a rewinder, a clipboard, pens, pencils, several pairs of sunglasses, musty smelling hats, and little bits of miscellanea.

Sifting through and putting aside the clutter I sorted the tapes I'd gathered by genre. A mishmash of tastes, the majority came out to be a mix of classic rock, classical, and Spanish with more than a few mixtapes. A decent breadth of options overall. It was going to be nice to have some background music. As relaxing as the quiet could be, it was a little disconcerting at times; a bit a variety would hopefully break up the monotony brought on by long treks across the island.

That was the operating idea at least. The banana yellow walkman I had found while searching the personal effects left behind functional enough, at least after I had cleaned out the old alkaline battery had burst in it. The headphones were little things made of wire and foam, but it was what was available.

It had been an odd feeling though, finding the player. Growing up with CD players and later MP3 players, smartphones… it was odd knowing that the tape player was only a few years old on this world. The computers were one thing, Winslow's systems had probably been about the same age, but the cassette player had really made it hit home. What was an anachronistic level of technology to me was modern only a few years ago… my phone probably had as much processing power as all the computers in the command center. Combined.

Leaving the mixtapes as a surprise for later, I sorted them into their own group and after stuffing them all into a small cardboard box, added it to a neat stack of supplies I had amassed from everything that had been left here.

There was a lot, though I could only take so much and I had some heavier items at the bottom of the pile.

A large part of what I'd gathered had come from the supplies left by the investigation team; however, an even larger portion had been sourced from the building's main store-room.

Despite the system for bringing in dinosaurs that the building had been built around, it could only do so much when several of the dinosaur species averaged in at tens of tons. The veterinarians addressed the problem as well as they could: they brought the hospital to the dinosaur.

Go to the dinosaur, isolate the dinosaur, construct shelter around the dinosaur, sterilize the operating area, clean up, monitor. As a result, though, this ad-hoc method of treatment had necessitated a sizable storeroom that took up much of the top right wing of the building and been filled with the supplies they used to assemble the temporary operating theater.

Ultimately I was only taking a small fraction of what was available, and only what might come in handy, but coupled with the other supplies, it had grown into a sizable pile.

Fortunately, with one of the pipes, a tarp, and a cargo net meant to lift the dinosaurs from the trucks, I figured I had made up a serviceable enough sling and carrying pole. With Artur and I could split the load we should be able to get it up the mountain in one trip.

Hopefully an overall simpler and less tedious method of transporting it all than the hand-truck method.

While straightening up the pile so it could be wrapped up, I monitored Artur as he left the balcony after sitting down to chew on one of his odd sticks for a bit.

The velociraptor was deep asleep, _thankfully_. Having gorged itself on a few bucketloads of rats it had hidden itself away in the thicker parts of the foliage and been deep asleep since just before dawn. I doubted Artur would react well to seeing it, and I didn't want to deal with him finding out I'd helped it. No need to complicate things at this point with unnecessary drama.

Hefting his rucksack under one arm, Artur made his way downstairs and up the hall to where I was.

"'Morning," I said aloud as he came around the corner, setting aside a pair of pliers I'd been testing.

He didn't approach and stood there a moment, staring at the pile and his posture shifted. More… guarded?

I blinked and twisted in place to look back at him. "What's wrong?"

His eyes flicked back to me and mouth twisted for a second. He reached up to scratch his thin beard before jerking his hand away. "You 'ave pro'duct'ive vatch, Ma'am."

"Yes," I said, bluntly. "There were a lot of supplies left in storage and by the people that made camp here."

He made a noncommittal noise.

"But that's not what you're asking about?"

He gave me a look of frustration, the type the exuded a kind of tired exasperation. "You haf choose to stay," he stated.

Ah. We never had finished that conversation, had we?

I turned back to the pile and seeing what it must have meant to him I shook my head. "Not yet, no."

Not wholly at least, I was loath to not keep all my options open.

With my back still turned his hand came up to scratch at his beard, staring into in the distance for a few moments the shook his head. "To poot oof deci'sion make difeecult to plan sto'rie, Ma'am."

"I know"

Setting his pack down he learned his walking stick against the wall and walked around so he was across from me, on the other side of the pile.

"If it helps, just plan as if I was leaving. Tell me what you come up with and we can drill that. If I don't go…" I shrugged. "Then it won't matter."

A brow raised as he knelt to examine the stack, inspecting some of what I had gathered. "You _are_ cone'sider stayed zen? Do noot vant to return to power, vould seemply… retire? Aefter all 'ave done?"

" _Staying_ ," I absently corrected, half helping him and delaying for a moment before shaking my head. "And no. I don't know, not for certain yet. Leaving now just doesn't seem that urgent to me as it once did. Besides, it isn't as if I have very much to worry about if I do stay."

The same could not be said if I left.

Leaving with Artur had always been a bit of a dubiously sensible proposal. I had accepted his offer in part because why _not_? Having the option could only be a good thing. But getting into the confines of a helicopter with mafia goons for a hundred-mile flight over open water after they show up to find out their boss is dead and some stranger is trying to bum a ride with the hired help? Not the most appealing prospect.

The safer option would be to just wait until the island's owners came back and hitch a ride with them, either by approaching them or stowing away on a ship. The way Artur had described it, there would be ships coming through regularly once they made their beachhead, bringing in equipment, men, and material.

It would be uncomfortable, but doable and had the same advantages when it came to what happened after I left the island. Staying off of official channels would have its advantages and allow me to re-enter society on my own terms.

Alternatively, I could introduce myself as a survivor who had washed ashore with some contrived story about amnesia. Fortunately, I had a handy, non-malignant but inoperable brain tumor to give that sort of story some weight.

Or I could come up with something else entirely. I'd have time to figure it out.

All angles considered, it was the safer option to simply stay. The _smarter_ option.

If Artur's information was accurate it would be six months, at least, until someone else came to the island. Barring sudden disasters, I was confident that I could handle myself for that long.

After that, I could do whatever, go wherever; settle down somewhere or see the world. I had options, going the rogue route to keep myself funded was one that I could do just about anywhere. Making silk bodysuits for those willing to pay would simply be an offshoot of what I had been doing for the Protectorate, and could easily be worth a small fortune. Actually getting to that point that was in question though. Just walking away from it all? Could I do that? Could I be that selfish?

But then, why _not_? Why couldn't I be selfish? Hadn't I earned it? Hadn't I given enough? I deserved the right to be a little selfish for once.

A memory bubbled up. _What if I just left? Walked away?_

A moment of weakness at the end of the world. But now?

There was no next mission, no impossible objective looming just over the horizon. I could slow down, find some peace for myself and let the world handle its own problems. Maybe I could start a bookstore on the side. I could keep bees.

A wan smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. A little house outside a small town, somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, walls of books. Maybe somewhere near the ocean.

It was a good dream. But how long would I be able to convince myself that that was okay? How long could I watch things happen on the news, or hear about them from those around me. How long could I just stand by when I _knew_ I had the power to do something?

How long before I went out for a late night walk that _just happened_ to take me into gang territory?

And what then? Would I go out, solve some problem, and then just go back to my bees and my books and live quietly again? Or would I just get pulled in farther, finding more unacceptable situations that I had to fix? And how long would it be before I started to make compromises again, doing bad things for a possible greater good?

How long until I decided I needed a larger power base to accomplish what I thought needed to be done?

"Vy noot take over crime as did in 'ome? Am sure people of Colom'bia vould velcome change," Artur offered with a wry smile, as if reading my thoughts.

And that was exactly the sort of mess I could fall into. I shook my head. "Being entirely honest, taking control of criminal organizations, that was more of a friend's thing than mine. I just… gave us direction."

"Boot you coold, zo, coold you? Vith bug and joongle, easy, yes?"

My eyes snapped up to meet his, the warmth of the dream fading as I smothered a frown.

Artur had particularly enjoyed listening to my (sanitized) recounting of my warlord phase, likening it to old aristocratic nobility. Apparently, his great grandfather had fought in the White Army, on the side of the Tzar during the communist revolution, and some of that romanticism had been passed down to him by his grandfather.

This though… this sounded more like a legitimate question.

I sat back, considered what I knew of the region, the mess it was before parahumans arose to amplify the pre-existing problems.

Yes, I could very well put an end the drug cartels scattered across South America if I dedicated myself to it. Easily, in fact. Bankrupting their operations would be as simple as destroying their crops, ruining their product manufacturing, disrupting shipments and smuggling operations.

But what would that look like though, where would I stop? Many of those organizations had been tied to the national governments, some of those nations had fallen to internal conflict when civilians suddenly gaining power fought back. How far would _I_ go?

I doubted the endemic corruption that had allowed the South American parahumans to control so much of the continent was overly different here.

Looking up I caught his eye. "It isn't a matter of whether I could do it or not, but if it would it be worth it, if I could _stop._ "

 _Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown_ , and I knew myself well enough by this point to know I wouldn't rest well knowing I could do something.

He didn't have a response to that and turning my attention to the pliers I fiddled with them for a few moments, opening and closing them a few times before sighing and setting them aside. Looking up again I gave him a small smile. "But enough on that. How does breakfast sound? There are some powdered eggs I found in the supplies left behind, they should still be good."

Artur stiffly returned my smile, considering me without comment for several long seconds before blinking and nodding sharply. "Da."

Rising to his feet he went to his rucksack and dug deep, pulling out the cooking supplies.

I remained seated for the moment, the image of his face frozen in my mind. Had he finally seen through the romanticism he imagined and to the implications of what I had done? What it meant about who, _what_ , I was?

I stood; a heavy weight bearing down on me. And I'd been making such good progress with him as well.

An hour later, with our stomachs full, everything was packed away and the building sealed up save for a few select windows to help air out the building. Wrapping the tarp around the salvaged supplies and lashing the cargo net to an aluminum pipe, we each hefted an end onto our shoulders and set out.

Leaving the building behind I stopped near the oversized gate to adjust my hold and reached out, willing several gallons of glowing water to rise up from a bucket and open one of the yard doors a few feet, just enough for the raptor to leave, whenever it was ready.

-I-

Two days later and I still hadn't given Artur my decision when we sealed up the radio bunker and left the mountain behind.

Food and shelter were a non-issue at this point, they were planned for. It was the same with fire and clothing, and when it came to keeping myself occupied for that time my research into the colored energy, among other projects, would serve me well until the island's owners showed up.

Still, despite thinking on it for the past two days I couldn't yet give him an answer. Even while sketching out plans for a kayak to get around the island quicker and making some tropical weather clothes, I couldn't _quite_ settle on staying.

It was with things left undecided that Artur and I turned off the main tour road and onto the short drive leading up to the Visitors Center. Ahead, a couple of large, colorful birds were playing in a spot of light shining down from an opening in the canopy overhanging the road.

Pecking and playing in the leaves, they flew off with a screech as we approached.

I didn't pay them any mind, but as we neared the spot they had been Artur stopped and peered up through the opening, squinting against the midday sun before looking into the foliage at the edge of the road.

Seeing him fall behind I stopped and half turned, a moment passing as he stared into the underbrush.

"Beet'tar eef noot 'ave spoken," he finally said, his voice distant and almost musing.

Glancing down, then taking a step toward the foliage, he flicked the end of his walking stick against the leaf-strewn road and a cherry-red shotgun cartridge was sent skittering across the road. The shining brass end-cap glinted in the dim light. Tracking its movement I considered the casing before looking from him to the spot he was staring at; a tall, dense fern beside a tall tree if I had the right of it.

"But you did," I said, perhaps a bit harshly, and he looked to me, his lean features drawn and I sighed.

"I can only suggest that you should not let it bother you. Or try not to. You were just doing the job you were paid to do."

"And what happened because of it?" He let out a bleak little laugh and made a backhand wave. "All team die."

"That still doesn't mean it's your fault. Shit happens, it's a fact of life. It wasn't you who gave the order to act on the information, that was your boss's doing, not yours."

He just looked to me, his features drawn. "Da. Boot still haep'peen. Grandvazer een'strookt beater, boot..." Lips twisting he turned away, shaking his head while he gripped the walking stick tight.

Had he been chewing on what happened this entire time? He'd been keeping himself busy, I knew that and had chalked it up to my first impression, and he'd been better even after our discussion at the veterinary building, but... was this the reason? Some shame for a failure he thought was his responsibility.

From his perspective, I could understand why, he'd been the one to spot me, but he was wrong. It wasn't his fault, it was mine.

The raptors had been hunting me and _I_ had been the one to set them off with my swarm.

"The thing about life is that things happen. Just look at me, I became a criminal because a gang leader decided to use a metaphor."

He turned back to me, brow furrowed and blinking. The confusion brought on by my non sequitur was clear on his face and I shrugged; a small, wistful smile pulling at my lips as I thought back to that night and slowly walked back to him.

It was a rather anticlimactic origin story looking back on the incident.

"He was telling his people to shoot children. I acted," I told him simply, elaborating on what happened that night and his expression hardened.

I nodded. "My reaction as well. I was young and dumb at the time, so after hearing that I didn't give it a second thought. I jumped right in and attacked."

There was still the conflict in his features, he was wound tight enough to snap, but his attention was being drawn away. "Are still young," he told me. His tone conciliatory, he may have been trying to reassure me. Innocence lost couldn't be recovered though. I continued.

"Of course, the children in this case turned out to be the Undersiders." I made a small 'oops' shrug at that, thinking back to the first night out that had set everything into motion. "They arrived on the scene soon after I engaged Lung and together we were able to beat him, they gave their thanks, and I… didn't think things through. Not long after I ended up joining them." I breathed out, recalling the mutual unmasking, the Brockton General heist, Coil and Dinah and Brian. Leaving. Leviathan.

"A few months later, I was their leader and had seized control of half my home city." I finished with a wan smile, remembering what had been and what I'd lost and given up before meeting Artur's eyes. "Shit happens. You can't always control what happens as a result of something you do, not in the long term. Your asshole of a boss ordered you to chase me then led you into the middle of the jungle. They died and you survived, that's all there is to it."

Looking down, to the ground, he pushed around fallen leaves with the toe of his boot and kicked to reveal more shining brass casings.

"Is noot so seemple," he said soberly.

"No, it is not, but you live with it. You signed onto with your boss in order to support your family and I became a warlord to support my city and save a child. You do what you have to do and deal with what comes after, that's all you can ever do."

Artur looked back to the fern for a few seconds before nodding, and we resumed our walk toward the Visitors Center, a somber atmosphere following us through the doors of the ruined building.

Artur led the way into the lobby and shrugging off his rucksack he set it at the foot of the staircase as he surveyed the entry hall.

A few leaves were scattered over the previously swept floor, but otherwise, it was just as we had left it.

I only stopped long enough to tell him I'd meet him on the roof before continuing deeper into the building.

Walking past the stairs, past the mural painted across the back wall and through the decaying restaurant, I stopped at one of the doors leading into the kitchens and plucked an orb weaver from my hair. Setting the yellow spider to cut the golden cord securing the door I idly looked back on the restaurant, seeing it with new eyes.

My eyes alighted on the ferns and mosses growing in the dark of the ruined restaurant, on the long rotted away tables I had dug through to pull scraps of tablecloth from and to the wracked gift shop. The condition of the building was like night and day when putting it up against the Veterinary Complex.

The orb weaver finished cutting the webbing and, retrieving the spider, I entered the kitchen. I looked left, to the island counters that dominated the center of the room and the nearly sorted piles of salvaged supplies, materials, and equipment spread across their surfaces. Things I had thought would help me survive on the island.

Nearly everything salvageable from Artur's group as well as what I had gathered from the building was here. Everything but the copper wire from the walls, and now it was mostly worthless except as spare supplies.

How much things had changed, and all because of a fallen sign and a damaged map.

While the material shift in my circumstances could be contributed to Artur's misfortune, it was difficult not to muse on how things could have gone had I taken a left and headed for the coast instead of making a beeline for the Visitors Center.

I wouldn't have learned about a lot of things and a lot of things wouldn't have happened, for better or worse.

Slipping off my backpack I set it on a stove and flitted between the island-counters, moving from one pile of supplies to the next, picking out select pieces of salvage or kit before returning and dumping it all onto the island opposite the stove. Tools, pieces of equipment, bits of tattered fabric: all little things to better sell the story of being a castaway.

The details.

Taking off my hat I shucked my poncho, my personal cadre of orb weavers emerging from my hair and descending down the upper half of my costume, aiding me in removing the white armor panels before pulling off the dyed gauze wrapping my prosthetic.

I avoided looking too closely at the glowing blue limb as I stored the armor pieces and the glove in the oven beneath the stove and got to work assembling my outfit.

Another costume, of sorts. A bit of theater and one more mask to don. At least this one was more mundane than all the others I'd worn. I was playing the castaway: the teenager who had recklessly gone looking for a bit of adventure and been marooned on an island filled with prehistoric monsters. Unlikely perhaps, but with what Artur had revealed about his boss's motivations, a cripple who had gotten lucky was more believable than an American spy sent by a Spanish cartel.

It admittedly felt a bit silly, like playing dress-up, but that was the story Artur and I had settled on. It was simple enough. Whether his ride believed it was another matter.

Despite its simplicity though, and the likelihood that I wouldn't be needing it, each component and detail had been thought out in its supposed application and purported purpose.

The long-sleeved shirt taken from the ruined gift shop to show I'd been salvaging from the buildings.

An old rag around my neck as an improvised bandanna to protect it from the sun.

Pieces of extraneous equipment and gear recovered from Artur's team that would help someone get by.

To my left hip, I attached a third, empty, canteen after rigging the cap to look like it was screwed on. Something to let me store away the Blue-infused water that made up my prosthetic, while still keeping it on me, just in case.

A dozen more little additions followed, bits of kit or decoration that painted a picture until I finally combed my hair out and I rubbed a stick of beeswax through to give it a thoroughly greased appearance. That the wax was actually good for my hair was a pleasant bonus.

Once everything was as I wanted it I grabbed my poncho to complete the image I was trying to convey. The garment had changed considerably over the past two days to fit the narrative as well.

Using some of the bedding gathered from the veterinary building, I had sandwiched my silk poncho between two tattered bed sheets and dyed it a dark red-brown. Combined with the additional layers of silk I had applied to the poncho to offset not wearing my armor, it had made it somewhat heavy in appearance, in how it moved. That was disguised with a patchwork appearance I had given it, with faux patches of natural tone fabrics taken from bits of tattered fabric or ill-fitting clothes. Coupled with the crudely cut the neck hole and overall haphazard stitching it looked awful, it was perfect.

Once satisfied with myself I put together Artur's tactical vest as I remembered it, with a few extra bits, and crossing to the island-counter on the far side of the kitchen I stopped at the wrapped tarp Artur had left on the countertop. I unwrapped it to reveal the pile of guns.

Neatly stacked, as much as a pile of guns can be neatly stacked, he had even placed rag cloths between them. He had spent hours working on them, cleaning them of my sabotage and making them ready to use.

Picking a pistol and Artur's long rifle out I set them aside, covering the rest before continuing to the end of the island-counter and kneeling in front of a built-in cooling cabinet.

I rolled up the shutter door and looked in on the piles of magazines and loose boxes of ammo stacked neatly on the wire racks within.

Pocketing a pair of spare handgun magazines for myself, I grabbed a few more for Artur and several of the short, waffle-pattern stamped magazines that went to his rifle. Shutting the cabinet I retraced my steps and grabbing the rifle, pistol, and vest I left the kitchen.

Making my way through the building I emerged from the access hatch to find him sitting with his legs hanging over the front edge of the building, leaning against the railing running the perimeter. Having settled in to wait he was working at a block of wood with his little carving knife. He jumped when I came up alongside him and held the rifle out by its barrel.

"Here."

He blinked at it and looked up to me.

"Well? You'll need it to sell the story, won't you? Take it, it's yours."

Looking back to the gun his eyes focused and shuffling back from the roof's edge he took it. The loaded thigh holster I set down beside him earned a glance and I took his spot at the railing, leaning back and watching as he ejected the magazine, grunted at the sight of the rounds, then brushed imagined dirt from his lap and proceeded to strip the rifle, inspecting each part with a critical eye.

"If you think I can work that fast you're giving me more credit than I deserve," I told him. Not precisely true, but no reason to tell him that. Prudent of him though.

He simply grunted in acknowledgment but kept working. I watched without further comment, drawing in the first wave of fliers carrying reinforcements of soldier and leafcutter ants while he was engrossed.

Giving each component a cursory inspection and testing the functionality of the mechanical parts where applicable, Artur eventually reassembled the rifle. Inserting the magazine he manually cycled through the rounds one by one then loaded a new magazine and shouldered the rifle, taking aim at something opposite the stagnant pond.

"Good?"

He had the grace to look slightly abashed as he glanced up from the scope before lowering and resting the butt between his legs so he could lean it against his shoulder. " _Da_." Looking out at the trees he absently pulled the radio from its place on his belt and set it aside. " _Cherez neskol'ko chasov_ ," he muttered.

I nodded. "In a few hours then," I echoed, earning a quick side glance from him as I pushing away from the railing, leaving him to take care of a few more preparations and think.

-I-

When the time came for the helicopter to arrive I stood at the roof access-hatch, waiting, ready to retreat inside and allow Artur to introduce me rather than just being there on the rooftop. A pinch from an ant would have signaled him to my decision.

Whatever my decision would've been though, it was ultimately rendered irrelevant.

Waiting on the roof with Artur, the pickup time came and went, and as the sun began its descent I watched the man wind himself tighter and tighter.

Ten minutes became thirty, thirty became sixty. An hour past the pickup time became two.

For a time I retreated inside but kept an eye on Artur and as the sun sank lower and lower a nervous energy overtook him. I returned to the roof.

Previously having occupied himself with working at the block of wood, Artur increasingly began fiddling with the radio.

Systematically changing channels he transmitted into the aether, repeatedly giving pre-established callsigns and designations in Russian, a combination of the Russian and English, and then straight English. Asking for someone to respond, waiting, then repeating the process on a different channel when no one responded before returning to carving at the block of wood.

The process repeated for a time, but eventually, the asking took on an even more desperate tone. The once patient sitting became twitching and the twitching became slow pacing.

He strode back and forth in front of the railing, radio clutched in one hand and the plastic creaking from how hard he gripped it. Keeping at it for a few minutes he suddenly stopped, sat, set aside the radio and picked up the block of wood. He let out a long, shaky breath before picking up his little knife.

Sitting on the steps leading up onto the roof I pushed back the long sleeve to check my watch.

Three hours past and still, nothing. How long was he going to hold out before acknowledging the inevitable? He had to know.

But was it desperation, or denial?

A slip of the hand, a hiss between clenched teeth, and the smell of blood filling the air was the deciding factor to intervene.

Closing my eyes and waiting a beat I stood, turned, and ascending the steps crossed to where Artur sat. Clutching his wrist he stared, insensate, at the laceration running along the meat of his thumb as blood dripped ran and dripped onto the roof.

Flash boiling a bit of water within a chamber in my prosthetic and mixing in some Blue-infused water I stepped up behind him and reached down; prying his grip free I applied the water to stem the flow.

"Enough, Artur. Let's go inside and get that cleaned up."

He tried to wrench his hand away but my prosthetic's grip was unyielding.

" _Mne nuzhno byt' zdes'_ ," he muttered.

"No, you don't. I can leave my bugs up here to listen if they call."

" _Yesli_." At the muttered word the pent up nervous energy just… released, and the man shrank into himself.

"We'll leave the radio on tomorrow. I'm sure they just had mechanical trouble." That last was a lie, he knew it as well as I. But it meant he didn't have to give up hope quite yet.

I rested my glowing hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"And if they don't arrive then we'll figure out what happens next. I promised I'd help you, didn't I?"

-I-

Standing out in the middle of the jungle, with the moon high overhead and the sounds of the jungle echoing through the trees all around me, I stared into the roiling Green sun suspended over my outstretched prosthetic.

It was a confirmation of my hypothesis. A 'pure' Green. Which mean there was at least another color, maybe more.

One good thing to happen today.

A short ways behind me Artur shifted, leaning up against a tree as he watched; I'd hoped it would help take his mind off things a bit. I looked to the surrounding vines that had broken into bloom in response to the concentration of energy. With the Green mixture up on the mountain consumed by supporting the whiptail, I hadn't had much of a chance to further my experiments with plants. Now?

Sitting down on the rim of the dried mud bowl, I tapped into the newly appeared impression at the back of my mind and reached for a vine.

—

A/N: I confess that Ryuugi's work on Arana has been making me feel inadequate.

E/N: Of course, it's Ryuugi. But as much as I hate to say it, I think this story has a much better chance of getting finished.

Translations:

 _"Cherez neskol'ko chasov_ ""In a few hours then"

" _Mne nuzhno byt' zdes'_ " = "I need to be here"

 _"Yesli" = "_ If _"_


	26. Chapter 26

C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #06.1

Old A/N: Oh look, things ran longer than expected.

New A/N: Holy shit did this get longer than intended and good lord did my editor help me with pulling this together. Wow, much revision, how edit.

—

Dirt and leaves shifting beneath my feet, I descended the ramp leading down to the subterranean garage under the Visitors Center.

The contents of the cavernous space hadn't really concerned me while I had been stripping the building of salvage during my first visit, especially considering the results of the many bats living there. Unfortunately, that was no longer the case.

I stopped in front of the narrow garage shutter, which was open by about a foot at the bottom and thereby provided an entry point for the bats. Borrowed gas mask in hand, I drew more and more of the fliers in my vicinity and sent them into the garage. I watched through the swarm slowly gathering inside as one of the small bats twisted like a gymnast, hanging onto a wire with the digits at the end of its wings, and tensed. A few moments later I heard the faint sound of something wet splattering on the hood of a glass-roofed SUV.

The vehicle had once had an atrocious green paint job, if the similar wrecks I had seen elsewhere in the park were any indication, but the bats' acidic guano and urine seemed to have been long since stripped most of that away.

Waiting a few more minutes for my swarm to gather in strength, I pulled the mask on, stepped toward the door, and breathed deep to make sure it was working. It helped, marginally. Mentally bracing myself, I pulled at the canteen shaped mass in my swarm sense and Blue-infused water flowed from the canteen at my hip, under the garage door, and into the mechanism.

For a few moments I made sure it was functional, raised the garage shutter an inch, then in one fell swoop raised it fully and drove my swarm through the garage. At the light, at the onslaught of my swarm, the bats took flight as a screeching cloud of thin-skinned wings and small, furry bodies that came at me with a nauseating cloud of fetid air that had been trapped in the garage.

A dense swarm and thin barrier of Blue-infused water shielded me from the bats in the chaos of the seconds following their sudden awakening. Then they were gone, into the dark of the surrounding trees.

The acrid stink in the air was still strong enough to peel paint and for good measure I recharged the water and sent it to the opposite garage door, opening it as well to help clear the air.

I looked in on the garage while it aired out a bit and the large room was just as I'd seen with my swarm. Guano was everywhere, albeit in somewhat orderly and concentrated lines as it followed wherever the utilities had been run along the ceiling or lighting hung. Unfortunately, that left the two rows of once green tour vehicles as the direct victims of the bats' residence. Leaves, dirt, scattered guano and refuse littered the floor, though fortunately the right side of the garage, where a pair of the park's red and white jeeps and a pair of four-seater golf carts were parked, had survived comparatively intact beside the SUV's.

Still, there was a revolting amount of shit covering just about everything in the room. It really would have been preferable to avoid this, and if not for the masks and filters intended for the heavy mold in the utility tunnels I'd have passed on opening the door at all.

But that wasn't the case, and with Artur volunteering for the heavy lifting on the surface, I was down here. I wasn't sure if his volunteering for the other job was just him being polite or if he was trying to avoid the mess down here as long as possible.

Either way, that left me being the first one to deal with the garage filled with bat guano. Gathering the Blue-infused water once more I made a path of steps for myself and entered the garage.

It was a bit of an odd feeling, being back here. Irrational as it was, I couldn't help but feel a little frustrated at returning to this place once more; it was like a magnet.

A week of trekking back and forth across the island and we were back here, scraping the bottom of the metaphorical barrel. But then, there wasn't another option. With no rescue coming, and a need to get back to civilization to salvage some sliver of his life, Artur had had no other option but to help himself.

The first plan came together after reviewing what we needed to call for help, what was available, and what we knew about the island. The main issue lay in actually calling for a rescue. Fortunately, an immediate solution to that had been sitting at the veterinary building, where the investigation team had left behind a long-range radio system complete with an antenna mounted to the roof.

The question then became how to power the system, and, again, the veterinary building provided a solution in the portable generators it had on site.

But then we struck on the problem of actually _fueling_ them. Whatever diesel was stored on site would have gone bad, just as it had at the bunker and likely everywhere else on the island; so while we had a means of communication, we didn't actually have the means to _use it._

Further planning had stalled at that point and we had had to take a recess to blow off steam for a bit. Each of us had gone our own ways, seeking out our distractions, with me venturing out into the jungle to confirm my hypothesis about the pure Green and Artur beginning a new whittling project.

It was Artur pointing out later that night that the generators didn't _have_ to be run on diesel fuel that got the plan moving again.

According to Artur, diesel generators could also use kerosene as fuel and kerosene just also happened to be used as jet fuel, something he'd learned after being near a helicopter gunship in the process of refueling. Evidently, kerosene had a rather distinct and pungent smell.

What made that relevant was that unlike other processed fuels, kerosene had a long shelf life. As fate would have it, there _had_ been a helicopter meant to bring VIP guests to and from the island so it stood to reason there would be some stored at their airfield for it to refuel. It was a viable solution and an easily available one at that.

It was entirely too optimistic.

When we reached the airfield it was both impressive and disappointing.

In one sense it was more than we had expected. I hadn't been anticipating anything more than a dirt strip and something to keep aircraft out of the rain, but it turned out to be a fully equipped airport, if a small one, with a paved airstrip, a pair of hangars, a radar and air control tower, and several glass-faced auxiliary buildings that made me think they were terminals or receiving areas.

But it wasn't finished. Outside the core structures, the air control tower and the pair of hangars, everything had been left incomplete when the island had been abandoned.

It was almost a repeat of the Visitors Center, with the incomplete structures being partially consumed by a wilderness eager to reclaim the rectangle of jungle that had been clear cut to make way for the airstrip and its facilities. And if that wasn't enough, the location as a whole had suffered due to the ocean being only a short walk away. The salt and spray of the sea could be smelled in the air, and coupled with the general humidity all exposed steel had a heavy patina of rust.

But the structures aside, the real problem was that it hadn't been left untouched like the rest of the island had. While the fuel would have been fine had it been stored properly, as it should have been when the original park staff had evacuated to the mainland to avoid a storm, that hadn't been the case. When Artur and I arrived, we found the main fuel tank empty, the refueling truck dry, and the remaining spare barrels of fuel left out beside the airstrip with their tops open or bottoms rusted through.

A bit of poking around had given us a good idea of what had happened. Evidently, the investigation team hadn't _just_ consisted of people stationed at the veterinary building, and for whatever reason, those at the airstrip had left in just as much of a hurry, enough so that they'd left the hangars open and debris from their things had been scattered across the airfield.

As best as we had been able to figure, when the team left they had filled up a helicopter or three with whatever had been left at the airfield and hadn't bothered to put away the remaining fuel drums or re-seal those they hadn't emptied. Now, years later, exposure to the elements had rendered whatever was left unusable.

It was a flat bust, with only the small amount of usable supplies I'd been able to dig out of the hangars making up for it. I'd finally gotten a piece of magnesium at least, for whatever a fire striker was worth at this point.

But while the easiest option had been ruled out, the reminder of the investigators' presence led us to looking into more unlikely and previously disregarded approaches to powering the radio system.

There were alternate options already existent on the island: a geothermal plant and wind turbines in the north, and a hydroelectric plant in the south. All we had needed to do was re-activate them. 'All', of course, being a gross oversimplification.

In defense of the idea, the fact that the geothermal plant on the other island had been left running for _years_ without maintenance and eventually had been used to call for rescue had made it seem marginally less implausible at the time.

The plan wasn't in any way _practical_ , we would need to figure out how to operate the facility and reroute power to the veterinary complex or find somewhere to bring the radio to the power plant. There were a dozen and one problems and privately I had thought it unlikely we would be successful, but having an objective had ensured Artur had remained focused, his mind occupied, and had kept him from falling apart. Barebones as it was, it was at least a plan.

So gathering our things we set out again with the intent to figure things out once we got there.

That had been the idea.

I'd refrained from informing Artur about the 'decommissioning' part of the investigatory teams' activities on the island. It was a risk, a balancing act in keeping him going, and one that ultimately backfired worse than I could have thought when it turned out that the term 'deactivated', when used to describe the geothermal plant, had been a synonym for _blown the fuck up_. It had been a gamble that I lost, and Artur… Well, he'd had hope. It had been effective in keeping him going, but turned to poison when it fell through.

Fortunately, while the plant itself had been a total loss, the time spent on the cross-island trek and hike up the island's volcano hadn't entirely gone to waste. While it had been arduous, and time-consuming, the trip had ultimately served to inspire our current plan while also allowing me to confirm the existence of yet another color at some hot springs we stopped at. A Red colored energy, unstable and difficult to work with, it had filled in some blanks I'd been struggling with concerning the mixed energy of the jungle-covered mountain impression.

The more relevant takeaway came in the actual process of venturing out to the geothermal plant, when we passed by another of the park's 'green' power generation methods: wind turbines.

Built on the southern face of the volcano in a series of scattered clearings, nine out of the ten had collapsed, with the sole surviving turbine now in the process of being reclaimed as the jungle consumed the clearing it had been built in. Regardless of their current state, their presence had given me an idea. _We could make our own_.

It was something I'd looked at in passing during my warlord phase, due to the ready availability of the requisite materials in the wrecked cars left scattered throughout the city. However, as appealing as it had been to use car alternators and daisy-chained twelve-volt batteries as emergency backup power, it hadn't turned out to be particularly viable.

The biggest issue I had found after a cursory web-search was that the alternator-turbines would have been hideously inefficient; it would have taken an unreasonably long time to charge a single battery, let alone an entire bank of them, to any appreciable degree. The flaws in the system had ultimately made me look elsewhere.

Now? While it still wasn't a _good_ option by any means, it was our _only_ option. The only practical one, at any rate, when a signal fire of sufficient size would draw the attention of the island predators and attempting to make a raft would be tantamount to suicide. That the alternator-turbines would be a fairly simple and straightforward project that could keep Artur occupied was an added bonus.

Of course, calling the project 'simple' was entirely relative. It was certainly a simpler prospect than attempting to reactivate a geothermal or hydroelectric plant, or somehow repair and tap into a full-sized wind turbine. We only had to gather up as many alternators and batteries as we could to account for the alternator turbines being unable to _produce_ much of a charge and as many batteries as we could because the ones available were old and wouldn't be able to _hold_ much of a charge.

It was a plan though, and one that, after spending a few days at the veterinary complex prototyping the idea, had proven to be a promising one.

We just needed to gather the materials.

A dozen batteries and alternators at the veterinary complex, then twelve batteries and four alternators from here, six of both from vehicles left at the airfield, and however many we could find at the workers' town and the hydroelectric plant.

I grimaced at the first jeep's shit-covered hood. Hopefully it wouldn't be as disgusting to retrieve the others.

Using the Blue-infused water I popped the hood and got to work.

-I-

After being at it for half an hour and beginning work on the second jeep, the sound of footsteps and crunching leaves preceding Artur's descent into the garage was welcome. I politely extended a series of steps made from water for him to reach me while he pulled on his mask.

" _I pulled the parts from the garage out back and found the wiring you mentioned,_ " he reported, leaning over to look into the engine compartment. " _Are you almost finished here? I can take the battery._ "

" _Almost_ ," I grunted, and jerked my head the left at the pair of four-seater golf carts parked beside the other jeep to disguise the reflexive discomfort at how easily I had pronounced the foreign syllables. A length of water shot out, slipping into the rearmost seat before it rose up and the water moved onto the second before returning. " _There are four batteries in each of those. Get started on moving them while I finish here?"_

After a moment's hesitation he nodded, and without further comment moved over to begin working on the batteries.

I welcomed his quiet acquiescence and went back to work on the alternator and battery.

As useful as it was being able to communicate more clearly, the fact that I was able to comprehend and speak an unfamiliar language with increasing ease was disconcerting.

It had been a week since the helicopter failed to show and the skill, ability, _whatever_ it could be called, had fully come into its own. In that time I'd gone from unknowingly understanding certain words, and being able to respond to a very limited extent, to being able to have complete conversations.

Assuming it wasn't limited to Russian though, this development could greatly broaden my options after I finally left the island. It was one of the few redeeming aspects to it that I could see.

But why it was happening, and _how_ , had been a constant weight on my mind since the night the helicopter hadn't come. And even more concerning than that, what _else_ had changed? Or _been_ changed?

First it was the Color power, or powers, and now there was this. Contessa had shot me in the head, she would have had to have that damage fixed before dumping me here and the few people she could have gone to didn't ease my concerns in the least.

My arm ached as I shifted from the battery to the alternator and worked the socket wrench back and forth, moving the vine bone with pulses of Green and pulling at the Blue composing the liquid flesh.

It was frightening. There was something happening with my brain, maybe even with the connection to my passenger if the phantom limb integration with the Colors was anything to go by, and there was nothing I could do about it.

But I could still speak, still read, was still myself… at least I thought so. I hoped so. That was worth something.

Over the next short while I worked quietly as Artur came and went, focusing on the intricacies of moving the vines making up the 'bones' in my prosthetic while not allowing a hint of my inner turmoil show through. Eventually I finished unbolting the alternator, detached the connectors, and had the battery ready to be pulled.

"Artur!"

He popped up from his work on the golf cart, and I hefted the alternator with my flesh and blood hand and pointed down into the engine to indicate the battery with my prosthetic. He returned a thumbs up then went back to unbolting the golf cart batteries as I turned toward the entrance.

Emerging from the dark of the basement garage, I blinked against the bright, mid-morning sun. As my eyes adjusted I ascended the ramp with the alternator in hand, Artur jogging past me with a battery from the golf cart and another from the jeep held in his arms.

I didn't bother telling him to slow down. After he'd accepted the reality of being abandoned, and after the airfield and geothermal plant fell through, he needed to keep moving or else he would just _stop_. As concerning as that was, though, I wasn't good at being comforting, and no quick solutions came to mind. For now, it seemed that the best thing for him was to stay productive.

Following him at a much slower pace, I turned right at the top of the ramp, pulling my mask off as I walked along the side of the building and hooking the straps on the canteen at my hip. Stopping at the corner and standing just out of sight, I watched through my swarm as Artur walked past the titanic, brown furred, black shelled male elephant beetle resting at the foot of the Visitor Center's front steps. Artur set the batteries down on the bottom step, and my stomach twisted a little when he moved to pat the titanic beetle on its proportionally tiny head. Disguising the darker reality of its existence, I had it exhale and press its head into his palm.

Stepping away, he patted the enlarged beetle's bulk and I sighed, rounding the corner as he grabbed one of the batteries and took it inside. My attention was on the beetle as I approached, watching from my perspective as it, _I_ , shifted the beetle about and moved it as naturally as a beast as large as it should've moved.

At least I had some leeway in applying movements to it thanks to its sheer size.

And it was massive. Not including the horn jutting out of its head, which made up another third of its length and brushed the ground as it fed on the gathered fronds and piles of berries gathered to help offset its upkeep, it had last measured in at twelve feet long by six feet tall by six feet wide. I couldn't even begin to guess how much it weighed at this point, hundreds of pounds at the very least, and that growth had all happened in just a few days of infusing energy from the pure Green Impression into what had once been a six-inch long beetle that fit in my hand. Only a few days and it had taken on a similar profile to a small family sedan when resting, and at its full standing height it was just as tall as a minivan— or a carriage, as Artur had compared it to.

It wasn't a bad comparison actually, and admittedly was helped along by the saddle of blankets laid down over a slight ridge that jutted up at the fore of its thorax and the wide basket of woven vines mounted atop the shell covering its now non-functional wings; the driver's seat and passenger areas respectively.

It wasn't my Atlas, wasn't what I had been hoping for when I initially thought of enlarging a beetle... but I would settle for it being my Oliphaunt.

Maintaining the beetle was a _costly_ drain on my limited supply of Green, even with the pure impression gained from the jungle and not having to support the whiptail at the same time.

That it had been killed in what was _meant_ to have been a simple experiment was frustrating, though I couldn't begrudge Artur for his hasty draw. It would have been one thing if it had just sat in the heavy gauge wire cage I'd put it in. It was another matter entirely when it entered some sort of berserker state and nearly tore through the cage in an attempt to get at Artur, who had been sitting nearby to relay what he observed via radio.

Hearing gunshots and being called on the radio moments after it had passed out of range, being told it had gone into a murderous rage and returning to find a cage built to hold small dinosaurs nearly torn apart, it had been sobering.

That the unexpected results of the experiment, and subsequent testing to confirm them, had just led to more complications, was only icing.

In the immediate the cost was minimal, as I'd already intended to let it die; all that was lost was what I may have learned and even that was offset. It was the long term takeaway that my enlarged insects were basically _raging berserkers_ when not under my control that was far from a welcome revelation, particularly considering the plans I'd had at the time for enlarging a beetle to serve as a beast of burden.

The whiptail being in such a state would have virtually been a non-issue; I could have kept it near me wherever I went, and it would have been little different from the wasps, ants, and spiders I kept on me.

That wasn't the case with the Oliphaunt, not with its limited mobility and the size I expected it to reach based on how effective a single suffusion of pure Green had been in enlarging the whiptail. I couldn't necessarily bring it with me if I had to go into more dense or difficult terrain, in which case it would go into the berserker state and likely destroy whatever was nearby. It being a pack animal, that wasn't exactly a desirable outcome.

With the complication of not necessarily being able to keep it close at all times, I'd begun to worry over what would happen if I lost control of any enlarged insect. For all its capabilities the whiptail had _only_ been an enlarged spider, while the elephant beetle I had intended to enlarge already outweighed it multiple times over and its strength was only going to be magnified once I began enlarging it.

It potentially destroying whatever it was carrying aside, collateral damage may not have been too great of a concern here on the island, but elsewhere? If I was in an urban area or working with others? The state of the enlarged insects was a _problem._

The only minor upside to it all was that it only took a few experiments with a handful of disposable scarabs to determine that the berserker state was a result of my using the mixed-Green energy of the mountain, and from there to narrow it down to the presence of the Red energy mixing with the Green.

From there things had fallen into place. Minimal experimentation with the Red had given me a good idea as to its nature, it serving as an agitant and exciting agent— almost an opposite to the Blue which had thinned and calmed the Red-mixed Green I had been using. The difficulties in controlling the Red and Green mixture on a fine level and overall application compared to the pure Green were night and day, and with the discovery of a Red colored energy at the hot springs we had stopped at earlier in the week I was able to pin the root cause down to the introduction of that into the enlargement process.

However, just _knowing_ the cause was little consolation, not when I couldn't act on that knowledge due to the timetable Artur and I were operating on. No, simply not using the Red-influenced Green simply wasn't an option, not when I had such a limited supply. I _suspected_ there was some potential in separating out the two energies as I had managed to gain the Blue aspect of the Visitors Center rather than both, but forays into that had thus far proven inconclusive.

If I couldn't refrain from using the Red-tainted Green, though, I did have one other option: investigating the alternative application of the Blue's effects on organisms' minds. Abhorrent was it was, as much as I didn't want the power, it was a potential solution that I couldn't allow myself to overlook.

But the effects of the Blue weren't absolute, something I'd only recognized after working my way through the first two-dozen scarabs; it was the sense enhancement I had noticed during my initial testing that tipped me off.

The way I'd come to understand it, the minds of the insects I applied the Blue to were breaking under the strain, their senses being amplified by too great a degree and being overloaded due to too much sensory input. I had been _boiling them_ , I'd come to realize. Well maybe not _literally_ , but close; as best I could determine I had been accelerating the hardware beyond what it could handle. However, the comparison made me think about going in the _other_ direction; if I could slow down it down instead. Could I 'freeze' the bug's mind rather than boil it?

Dozens of bugs later and the answer seemed that, yes, it was possible. And in the process, I learned more about the intricacies of what the Blue could do, what it took for the deleterious mental effects to occur going in either direction, and more.

It was attempting to slow things down with the Blue that I figured out I could put something to sleep, and from there send them into a far deeper sleep verging on a coma— as I'd currently done with the Oliphaunt. It may as well have been a vegetable while I was controlling it. Still distasteful, but in that state, the problem was largely solved while leaving the utility of its waking state of its rage as a contingency. Flip the switch in the beetle's brain to awaken it while fleeing and it would keep fighting once I was out of range.

And then there was another direction to the research. While having a non-lethal takedown method was nice, it was a more tactical development and secondary to the strategic potential that the sense enhancement represented. The distorted senses of my normal swarm were capable enough, but they had their limits and being a little more than a fly on the wall would expand my observational capabilities multiple times over.

Broadly speaking, the various mental applications of the Blue were ripe for abuse. I didn't want the temptation of them any more than I had when I noticed it during testing, but I could accept being able to take the good from the bad.

Sighing, I adjusted my slipping grip on the alternator and began toward the beetle, walking up as Artur took the second battery inside. Looking past him I saw all we'd gathered was neatly piled just inside the door: batteries, electrical wiring, pipe, nails, screws, hammers, and more. Not very much all said, most of what we needed was elsewhere or already back at the Veterinary Complex, but it was several hundred pounds that wouldn't need to be hauled by the Oliphaunt until after we salvaged what we could from the workers' town.

The trailer itself wasn't exactly light though, or sturdy, so every pound removed counted for something. Turning I looked behind the Oliphaunt, grimacing at the hodgepodge of rusted steel interlaced and tightly woven vines sitting oversized truck tires.

Not for the first time that morning, the concern of whether it would hold together or not came to mind and setting the alternator on the steps I stepped over to the trailer and touched my prosthetic's fingers to the vines wrapping its frame.

Reaching into the back of my mind I touched the slightly dim Green Impression of the small jungle clearing and drew forth a long streamer of Green, channeling it into the fibers of the woven plant. Searching for signs of strain, I found clusters of taught vines that were on the verge of snapping or had come loose.

Guiding the Green, concentrating it, new shoots burst out and were woven into the existing vines to further reinforce the structure. A patch job, but it only needed to hold together for another day or two.

Moving on I searched for further weak points and stepped back a few minutes later with the Impression much dimmer than had been. There had been a lot. Coupled with the ration needed for the Oliphaunt tonight I wasn't going to have much left to use for myself.

Salvaged from the veterinary complex, it had taken almost a full day of work from both Artur and I in order to get the trailer rolling, and then another few hours for it to move under load without something breaking or the wheels screeching.

Still, it was serving us well so far and had already survived being pulled around for a day. Regardless of its inherent problems, it was the only way the alternator-turbine plan was going to work out without turning the gathering period into days of back and forth trips across the island. That wouldn't have gone well, not with how much time that would give Artur to think himself into a hole.

Grimacing, I turned again to look up the stairs.

Artur had grabbed the last of the batteries from the garage while I'd been working on the trailer, but now he was sitting at the base of the stairs to the second floor, holding a bottle he had taken from one of the offices while grabbing bundles of electrical wiring not used in the construction.

The downside of keeping yourself occupied with work: When the work was done, there was nothing left to distract you from the things you were pushing away.

Handling it by falling into a bottle, though?

Trodding up the steps I entered the lobby he looked up from the bottle, a finger picking at the red wax seal the cap as I crossed the hall.

" _Coming to tell me this isn't a good idea_?"

I shrugged. " _That was what I'd intended. I'm not saying not to, it may help for a little bit and if the mood warrants it I don't think there's anything wrong with trying to drown your sorrows."_

He nodded, conceding. " _But_?"

The prompting caught me up for a second. Did he want me to spell it out? " _But abusing it will do you no good. There's only so much and before long you'll run out, then where will you be? We're making progress_ ," I continued, trying to reassure him. " _The wind turbine was working just fine when we left. Don't give up so soon_."

Looking back down he rolled the bottle in his hands, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

" _I know,_ " he said, continuing to roll the bottle back and forth. " _I just needed to be reminded. It's just…_ " Trailing off he stared at the bottle's label for a long moment. " _Your_ Protectorate," he said, pronouncing the word in English, " _it wasn't like a military force, was it, not with what you've told me about it._ "

I paused, considering where he might be going with this. _"No. I suppose the best comparison would be that we were like a... patrol force?"_ I frowned, the words not quite matching up with what I had intended. My mind unconsciously making up for my limited vocabulary? "The Wards were like a neighborhood watch," I told him in English.

Artur nodded. Not in understanding, but simple acknowledgment. _"Well, in three days I will be declared missing without leave when I fail to check in with my commanding officer. After that, between one to three days later my case will be sent up the chain of command and charges of desertion will be put forward. I have no papers, so even if I had the means to go home I cannot. And the payment promised to me for this… hunt, will languish in a bank account, with no way for me or my family to access it. I came here for nothing."_

" _Oh_."

A bitter smile twisted at his lips and he nodded. " _Yes. Oh. I trust that the plan will work, but that doesn't really matter much, does it?_ " Shaking his head he snorted; bitter, dismissive. _"You know I thought you were some monster when you pulled me out of that ambush? I thought you were some kind of witch or demon, like the kind my grandmother told me about to keep me in line after she and grandfather took me in. Now I'm beginning to think you and I have a lot in common."_

He stared at the bottle for a long few seconds before setting it aside and rubbed his hands against his pants as he looked up again. _"You promised me your help, and I am thankful, but this… all that's left for me to do is to keep moving forward and hope something happens."_

 _So worse than expected, but at least he hadn't given up entirely. "I—"_

 _"Are we finished here,"_ he asked suddenly, then blinking and flushing pink a little he gestured to the lobby. _"Here, I mean."_

The change of subject was sudden, but a relief. Nodding my affirmation I was left unsure as Artur stood and walked briskly past me, leaving the lobby.

Maybe he wasn't doing better, but I could deal with him simply managing. I would take managing over him being a mess.

But if, _when_ , the time came that he couldn't manage any longer? I looked down at the whiskey bottle, then stooped to pick it up by its neck and proceeded back to the kitchen. Not the best option, but that just seemed to be how things were going.

Shutting the lobby doors behind me and checking that Artur had everything, I pulled at the Blue-infused water in my canteen and spun it out into a disc of water to step on, then climbed onto the Beetle and took my place on the saddle, letting my legs rest on either side of its small head as I got comfortable.

Artur had settled in and I glanced to the Visitors Center, shaking my head. One more day and we'd be back again.

"Giddyup."

Resting my hands on the hump I sat back and loosened up as the beetle rose, stretched its legs, and started forward in its slow, ponderous stride.

—

A/N 2: Urgle Burgle. This was… not what I originally intended, not by far. It was supposed to be short for one thing. Another part of that could be attributed to how long it took due to things coming up in life, as well as a few rough patches arising during production with the continually growing length making the editing take longer and longer… but anyhow, that was 6.1. Not an interlude as intended, but what I originally had planned wasn't anything special so in all likelihood, there may be a second Interlude from Arturs perspective at the end of the Arc… probably, I'm still weighing that.

Anyhow, onto the 6.2. Since it wasn't merged with 6.1 I filled this out a bit more than originally intended so I hope I'm giving you something to discuss.

 _My Pat-reon_ , if one feels so inclined to support my caffeine addiction, can be found under user? u=18283954. Not there right now but I have some things in mind.


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